Top Girl
by D.W.Gavin
Summary: Spinelli attends Top Gun - Prologue through CH.8 now posted. New scenes added; rating changed for content. Enjoy.
1. Prologue

Top Girl

By D.W.Gavin

Author's Note: I don't own the Recess characters. This story takes place seven years after the Main Kids graduate from Washington High School. It is rated 'R' for content; sexual situations, strong language and violence.This isn't a 'kids on the playground' story.

All planes, weapons, places and fighter tactics described are real and are represented in this story as accurately as possible, within the limitations of the information freely available on the web. Most of the information on the fighters were taken from "The Great Book of MODERN WARPLANES", edited by Mike Spick (yes, that's his name!) and printed by Salamander Press, blah, blah, blah...

A little background information:

1. Spinelli flies an F15-A-D Super Hornet in the story, although the designation is F-18 for that fighter class, the F-15-A-D is the NAVY designation of the F-18/F Super Hornet (due to the fact that the F-15-A-D Super Hornet is bigger and badder than the F-18F/F) and boasts a two-seater version of the F-18/F.

2. Also as the location changes frequently; a new location is designated by me as having two tildes () before the location.

3. TOP GUN was located at MIRIMAR but in 1996 was converted into a Marine base. TOP GUN is now located at NAS FULLON, located approximately 60 miles outside of Reno, Nevada (where the Pylon Races are also held.  
Lyrics from Star Trek: Enterprise main theme "Where My Heart Will Take Me" by Dennis McCarthy. All Rights Reserved.

PROLOGUE

From Ashley Spinelli's Diary:

Who ever said dreams don't come true?

Washington High School Senior Prom, Seven Years Ago...

"Come on, Spinelli! Just one more for me!" Gretchen smiled from behind the camera, "Pull T.J. closer and give me a big smile!"

Ashley Funicello Spinelli blushed furiously as T.J. slipped one strong arm around her slim waist, holding the side of her beautiful face. Her dimples outlined the corners of her mouth as Ashley broke into a huge grin, her face flush from the embaressment of being held so close as Gretchen clicked off two more candids of Spinelli and her date. Spinelli's body was pounded in time with the dull thumps of music that came from the gymnasium, which filled her more with trepidation than with excitement as she cast a shy glance sideways at her boyfriend. Spinelli was nearly two inches taller than T.J., and just an inch shorter than Gretchen Grundler. Her long, ebony hair was worn loose, with bangs with accentuated her classical features. Her flawless tan skin, now a bronze color, was highlighted by the off white evening dress she wore, with just a hint of sequins that sparkled in the gymasium lighting. Her lucious red lips, glistening with only a touch of lip gloss, turned upward in an amused grin as her dark, shimmering eyes darted from the floor in front of them, to her boyfriend and back again.

Spinelli ran a hand along the side of her evening dress, slit up the right about mid-thigh, exposing and ample portion of her long, well-muscled legs. Four years of being the state swimming champion for the Washington High Cougars had kept Spinelli's figure not only fit, but very pleasant to behold.

"That's it!" Gretchen teased, as she tilted her head to one side, "And say I'm sexy!"

"Okay," T.J. shot back easily, "You're sexy!"

Spinelli laughed as Gretchen snapped the camera's shutter once, then twice; before she knew it, T.J. had pulled Spinelli around and gave her a deep heart-felt kiss, while their friends looked on. T.J. returned Spinelli's hungry, longing stare with just as much enthusiasm, admiring for himself the beautiful, sensual girl Ashley Spinelli had become.

"T.J.!" Spinelli playfully patted the side of T.J.'s face, "Behave!"

"You should have said something a little bit sooner, Spin," T.J. teased, stealing one more kiss before turning back to Gretchen Grundler and her date, Gustav P. Griswold.

"Okay," he said, motioning for Gretchen's camera, "now it's your turn, Gretchen."

"Oh, no!" Gretchen objected politely, blushing herself, "that's quite alright-"

"Come on, Gretch!" Gus insisted as he took her hand in his, "After all, it's our Senior Prom!"

"You'd better do what he says, Gretch," Spinelli advised, as she continued to gently fend off T.J.'s kisses with playfull swats to his chest, "Gus has been hanging around T.J. for too long; he won't give up easily."

"Oh...alright," Gretchen feined her surrender, as T.J. took the camera from her. He motioned for Gus and Gretchen to get as close as they could while he brought the camera into focus. Gretchen giggled as she pulled Gustav close, laying her cheek on the top of Gus's falt-top hair cut, one slim hand lovingly caressing his face as they both gazed at T.J..

"Hey, Monkey Boy," Spinelli teased, holding onto his waist from behind, "are you sure you know what you're doing?I don't want you taking a picture of your thumb, okay?"

"What?" T.J. pretended to be hurt by Spinelli's accusation, "It's me, Spinelli! Trust me!"

Spinelli rolled her eyes, as though she hadn't heard that line a million times, as she noticed Mikey Blumberg and Ashley Quinlain, aka Ashley Q., returning from the punch bowl, Mikey's strong, protective arm around Ashley Q.'s slim waist. Ashley Q. waived herfingers at Spinelli, who waved them over and jestured to T.J., who seemed to be having some problem with the lens.

"Mikey! Ashley Q.!" Spinelli called out, "Come on and get into the shot; I'll get one of the teachers to take a group shot of us!" Spinelli excused herself and made off into the crowded gym of graduating Seniors from Washington High School.

Ashley Spinelli had done remarkably well; she graduated third in her class, with T.J. comming in fourth. Gretchen Grundler, of course, had taken the top honors and graduated with the highest grade point average in Washington High School history. Gus was seventh, and Ashley Q. and Mikey both tied for tenth place. Vince had done reasonably well, within the top twenty percent, which was more than sufficient to guarantee his football scholarship to Princeton in the fall. Spinelli knew that if it had not been for Gretchen Grundler's tutoring with her and T.J., Mikey and Ashley Q., she would have had little to look forward to after graduation.

As she walked away, her dark, fathomless eyes drank in her boyfriend's visage; tall, lean and well-muscled, T.J. Detweiler had grown into one of the most handsome men Ashley Spinelli had ever known. She never would have figured that he would grow up to be so damn beautiful, especially when she remembered back to grade school at Third Street Elementary. He still had that shaggy look to his hair; the same light sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose that drove Spinelli wild. But where once had been puppy fat in elementary school, was now replaced with hard, lean muscle. His wash-board stomach, strong legs and tight glutes came from four long years of playing fullback for the Washington High Cougars, which had seen them go from fourty-seventh in the state to number one. Ashley stole another glance at T.J.'s butt.

Yeah, she thought slyly, feeling her face grow hot, he's got the best damn gutes in the whole fraggin' state.

The state championship had not been won by T.J. alone, of course. Vince LaSalle had become Washington High's star quarterback, and there was already talk of a professional football team ready to take him on when he graduated Princeton. Still, over the last two years, Vince and the rest of the gang had grown apart; especially after the incident just after football try outs at the beginning of their Senior year.

Vince and T.J. had both gone out for the quarterback position, with Vince coming out on top by a sizeable margin. If that weren't bad enough, Vince had seemed to have gone out of his way to rub T.J.'s nose in it. At first, T.J. had taken it all in stride; but as Vince, in his traditional way, decided that just beating out T.J. for the position of quarterback wasn't good enough; he had to rub T.J.'s nose in it. But rather than confronting Vince about his egotism, T.J. had withdrawn into himself. It had taken Ashley several weeks to get T.J. back to his old self, but she never forgot how bad Vince made T.J. feel. Ever since that time, Ashley Spinelli no longer considered Vince part of the gang as she once did; she still talked to him, when she had to, but she steered clear of him whenever possible. Just because she may have forgiven Vince for his wrong doings, Ashley had never forgotten. Despite the fact that Vince LaSalle was conspicuously absent from the group, Spinelli pretended not to notice.

"Are you lost, Miss Spinelli?" the gruff, gravelly voice of Coach Wedermeyer asked, which caused Spinelli to jump involutarily.

"W-what?" she asked dumbly.

"You're wandering around the gym floor as though you were lost," he pointed out with an amused grin on his round face, "can I help you?"

"Um, yeah," Spinelli shook her daydreaming off, "in fact you can, Coach; I need someone to take a couple of pictures of my friends and I before they announce the King and Queen of the Prom. Would you mind, sir?"

"Not at all," he said, "where are they?"

"This way," Spinelli took him by the arm as she led him back to her friends.

"How do I look, Micheal?" Ashley Q. asked her gentle giant. Mikey kissed her hand in reponse.

"If there is any maiden here more fair than thee, I have seen them not," Mikey posed, as Ashley Q. sent him a quick kiss as his reward.

Mikey 'the Bomber' Blumberg was the biggest offensive tackle in Washington High history. Mikey was now over six foot two inches and weighed in at over two hundred and thirty eight pounds, most of which was muscle. Despite his gigantic size, however, Mikey was still Mikey at heart; he was the the Big Guy, Lovable Lumox, the Big Kahunna. He was still as gentle and as poetic as Spinelli had ever remembered him, even when they were at Third Street, but now he was the other half of Vince LaSalle's ticket to fame and fortune. But unlike Vince, Mikey had tried out for Wshington High school football after he considered the 'zen' of the game and how it would help him to deal with life since his step-mother had past away when he was at Third Street. Although those events had happened years ago, it was a wound which was still very much a part of Mikey Blumberg's life and probably would be for many years to come. But with friends like those he had in school and the deep, pure love of Ashley Q. to support him, Mikey had finally managed to push past the loss and set his sights on the future.

Ashley Quinlain, or Ashley Q. as she was still known, still dated Mikey and their love was stronger than ever. Ashley softly smiled as she thought of the countless double dates that she, T.J., Ashley Q. and Mikey had gone on together. Now with graduation upon them all, Mikey and Ashley Q. had stunned the gang by announcing their pending engagement later that summer, with a wedding date set for sometime the following year. Mikey worked for Ashley Q.'s father directly, as a Worker-Management Relations negotiator after Mikey had helped Quilain Industries avoid a potentially crippling strike. This single stroke of genius had forever endeared Mikey Blumberg to the Quinlain family, so Ashley Q. decided to press their advantage; she and Mikey announced their engagement, which now had the whole-hearted blessings of the Quinlains. As far Ashley Q. knew, she and Mikey were the only offically engaged couple in Washington High.

Gus and Gretchen stood close, their arms wrapped tightly about one another, as T.J. Detweiler took several snapshots of the couple, then turned to Mikey and Ashley Q., who comically posed with each other while T.J. snapped several more pictures. Ashley Q. stood on her tip toes, pulling Mikey's chubby face towards her and planting several kisses on his cheeks, grinning as T.J. snapped off a few more pictures.

"Hey, guys!" Spinelli called out over the buzz of the music and talking to be heard, "Coach Wedermyer said he'd take some pictures of all of us!"

Spinelli took her boyfriend's arm and led T.J. over to Gretchen and Gus, who made room enough for four more, as Coach Wedermyer held the camera close, taking aim.

"Okay, kids," the coach said, waving his hands to them, motioning the three couples to move closer together, "smile! This is it! This one is for the history books!"

T.J. Detweiler stood on the outside, farthest to the left, with Ashley Spinelli next to him, her arms wrapping around his own, as he pulled her close while Spinelli leaned her head back slightly into T.J.'s shoulder. Gretchen Grundler was to Spinelli's left, holding her long, slender arms around Gus as she planted a warm, inviting kiss on her boyfriend's cheek, who smiled and blushed. Ashley Q. stood to the opposite of Gus, nestled comfortably into her fiancee's massive arms as Mikey gave a wave at Coach Wedermeyer and the camera.

CLICK!

"Great!" he said, as Gretchen came over and thanked Coach Wedermeyer as she gently took the camera from him and swapped out the exposed film for a new roll from her purse.

"Gee, Gretch," Gus said, "how many rolls of film did you bring, anyway?"

"Enough to ensure that everyone will get a set of these after graduation, Gus," Gretchen said matter-of-factly.

"Make sure you hold onto those negitives, Gretch," Spinelli said, "I'll want some copies to send to my relatives; and I did promise Mrs. Detweiler I'd get her and Teej's dad their very own set, too."

"My mom and dad want these pictures, too?" T.J. asked, mildly shocked.

"Of course," Spinelli replied, "and so do my parents."

"Just as long as I get mine," T.J. said dismissively.

"Don't worry, boy of mine," Spinelli cooed, stroking the side of his face gently, "I promise you'll get yours, too."

She finished with a wink, which caused T.J. to pause, wondering exactly what she meant, but before he could question her further, the music ended as Principal Haskell took the stage, tapping on the mike in front of him.

"May I have your attention, please?" he asked as the murmur of the couples died down, "it's with a great sense of pride that I announce it is time to unveil our King and Queen of Washington High School, Class of 2004!"

Applause and excited chatter filled the air as the lights in the gym dimmed to near total blackness, a single bright spotlight now focused on Principal Haskell alone. Spinelli pulled T.J. around to her side, wrapping one arm around his waist as she leaned close to her date.

"I wonder who got elected?" she asked, glancing about, "I'll bet it was Mikey and Ashley Q.."

"Why's that, sweetheart?" T.J. asked.

"Are you kidding?" Spinelli looked at him with an amused grin, "Everyone's been talking about their engagement for the past several months; they're like the 'Romeo and Juliet' of school."

"It would be cool to see them get it," T.J. nodded, "but we're in the running too, you know."

"Mom always said never get your hopes up too high," Spinelli admonished him gently, "but yeah; that would be cool."

"May I have the envelope, please?" Principal Haskell asked, as Miss Jones, the biology teacher, appeared from the darkness and handed it to him in a flurry of clapping.

"And the King and Queen of Washington High, Class of 2004 are-Ashley Spinelli and T.J. Detweiler!"

Spinelli was blinded by the sudden and intense spotlight which shone upon her and T.J. as she turned and threw her arms around her King. Mikey, Ashley Q., Gretchen and Gus all crowded around the royal couple as Spinelli wiped the tears from her eyes, while T.J. held her close and waved his thanks to his friends, while leading his Queen to the center of the gymnasium to accept the honors.

"Congradulations!" Principal Haskell crooned, as Spinelli was doned with a tiere' and given a bouqet of roses, while T.J. whispered to Principal Haskell as to what song he and Spinelli would dance to.

"Come on, my Queen," T.J. said, kissing Spinelli squarely on the mouth, which illicited cheers and clapping from the massive crowds, "let's dance."

"S-sure, Teej," Spinelli replied shakily as her date led her to the dance floor as the mirrored ball high above reflected thousands of tiny white lights all across the gym floor. Spinelli no longer fought back the tears that fell, but just looked at her lover as the music began. She took him into her arms, still shaking, as T.J. held her close. As the music began, a shiver went down Spinelli's spine, as she began whispering the words to her favorite song:

- Where My Heart Will Take Me

It's been a long road, getting from there to here.  
It's been a long time, but my time is finally near. And I can feel the change in the wind right now. Nothing's in my way. And they're not gonna hold me down no more, no they're not gonna hold me down.

Cause I've got faith of the heart.  
I'm going where my heart will take me. I've got faith to believe. I can do anything. I've got strength of the soul. And no one's gonna bend or break me. I can reach any star. I've got faith, faith of the heart.

It's been a long night. Trying to find my way.  
Been through the darkness. Now I finally have my day.  
And I will see my dream come alive at last. I will touch the sky.  
And they're not gonna hold me down no more, no they're not gonna change my mind.

Cause I've got faith of the heart.  
I'm going where my heart will take me. I've got faith to believe. I can do anything. I've got strength of the soul. And no one's gonna bend or break me. I can reach any star. I've got faith, faith of the heart.

I've known the wind so cold, I've seen the darkest days.  
But now the winds I feel, are only winds of change. I've been through the fire and I've been through the rain. But I'll be fine ... Cause I've got faith of the heart.  
I'm going where my heart will take me. I've got faith to believe. I can do anything. I've got strength of the soul. And no one's gonna bend or break me. I can reach any star. I've got faith, faith of the heart. Cause I've got faith of the heart.  
I'm going where my heart will take me.  
I've got faith to believe. I can do anything.  
I've got strength of the soul. And no one's gonna bend or break me.  
I can reach any star. I've got faith, faith of the heart.

From Star Trek: Enterprise main theme, "Where My Heart Will Take Me"  
by Dennis McCarthy, all rights reserved

As they danced, Spinelli snuggled with T.J., her face next to his, as they swayed gently to the music, while Mikey and Ashley Q. made their way out onto the dance floor. Spinelli gave Ashley Q. a smile and wink as Ashley Q. smiled in return, being overwhelmed by Mikey Blumberg's massive frame. Gretchen and Gus followed right behind Mikey and Ashley Q., as Spinelli continued to whisper the lyrics to herself.

There was something special about that song, she thought; something that made her feel better about herself whenever she heard it. T.J. could feel Spinelli's breath on his neck as she sang softly along, the words drifting to his ear. He smiled, satisfied.

"Why did you choose that song, baby?" Spinelli asked.

"Because it reminds me of you," T.J. said seriously, "it always did. Like when you once told me that you wanted to be a fighter pilot back in the fourth grade. When I hear that song, I picture you flying through the sky."

"It's just a dream," she said quietly, looking away.

"Dare to dream, Spin," T.J. said. Spinelli looked at him quizically, her dark eyes, filled with tears, shimmered like two black diamonds.

"Do you really think I could be a fighter pilot?" she asked timidly.

"You could if you wanted it bad enough," he replied seriously, "you've got the grades."

"But that would mean-" she began.

"Yeah, I know," T.J. said, "it would mean that we would not see each other for a long time; maybe forever."

"I don't know if I could deal with that." Spinelli shook her head, a cold, wet feeling in the pit of her stomach.

T.J. stopped dancing and gently took Spinelli's face in his hands, holding it as though he were holding a newborn baby.

"I love you, Ashley," T.J. told her, "and if that means I would stand by you what ever you decide. That's what love is all about; it's not about me...it's about you."

From light to dark...as though the sun itself had been seized and thrown to the ground, the western sky exploded in a firey crash that heralded the end of the day; boiling reds, golds and ambers set fire to the clouds above, burnning like brimstone in deep redish hues. The crimson scar of the setting sun, which split light from dark, day from night, earth from sky, slowly faded as the full moon rose over the horizon, shining once more on the world below. The soft chirpings of crickets filled the evening air like a favorite melody which buzzed in the ears of Ashley Funicello Spinelli as she walked hand in hand with T.J. Detweiler through the parking lot of Washington High School, to get some fresh air.

She could feel her heart racing in her ample chest, causing her to occassionally fight for a deep breath as she and T.J. made their way along the rows of parked cars, headed for T.J.'s broken down, rusted out station wagon which had brought them to their Senior Prom, intent on spending some personal time together...possibly for the last time.

"Hey, Teej?" Spinelli whispered softly as she stopped in her tracks, pulling gently on his arm. T.J. stopped immediately.

"What's wrong, Spin?" he asked, "Is my bow tie on crooked?"

"No, it's not that," she smiled, "I was just thinking...why don't we skip the rest of the dance?"

T.J. just looked at her for a moment, dumbfounded.

"Baby," T.J. said softly, "this is the last dance of school; our Senior Prom. Don't you want to stay?"

"Of course I do, you crazy monkey boy," Spinelli playfully punched his chin, causing him to laugh, "I was just thinking that maybe we could do a little celebrating of our own for graduation...if you know what I mean."

"What are you? Oh!" T.J.'s eyes suddenly grew wide, "I...uh...I think I know what you mean."

Spinelli said nothing in return, but simply winked at him.

"How much money have you got?" Spinelli asked, as she began to dig through her purse.

"About three hundred dollars," T.J. answered, thinking about it.

"That should be enough for a nice room at the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast, don't you think?" Spinelli reasoned.

"Are you sure about this, Spin?" T.J. asked, his throat suddenly dry.

"I've never been with anyone else, and neither have you," she said, as the two started to walk again, "and you've never pressured me into doing it before I was ready; which by the way, I want to thank you." She kissed him squarely on the mouth, feeling the moistness of her lips against his.

"You don't have to-" T.J. began, but Spinelli placed a finger on his lips.

"I want to, Teej," she said honestly, her face hot, "I mean, we're both adults now; so it's not like we really need anyone's permission. And there's nobody else I'd rather be with tonight than you."

"Right," T.J. exhaled, his own voice shaking, "but I always thought we would wait until we were...you know...married."

Ashley Spinelli looked away from him for a long moment, then sighed.

"Teej," she began slowly, "I'm going off to Berkley in the fall, and you've already got an appointment with the Naval Academy. Those places are on the opposite sides of the country."

Spinelli's heart winced when she saw the expression of sadness in her boy's eyes; but she also saw resignation as well. T.J. stopped again and brought Spinelli around in front of him, taking her hands in his, rubbing them gently.

"Just make me a promise first," he said.

"What promise?" she asked slowly.

"That if you ever decide to get married," T.J. said, looking directly into her dark eyes, "that you'll at least give me first shot at it."

"Baby," Spinelli grinned, "if I ever do marry, you'll be the one...I promise."

The countless stars twinkled in the heavens as if a thousand firey diamonds were sprinkled in the night sky while the old Detweiler family stationwagon made its way slowly up the narrow, winding road. A light breeze had begun just after sunset, and now softly whistled through the evergreens as Ashley Spinelli took a deep breath and listened to the old rock and roll station on the radio as her lifelong boyfriend, T.J. Detweiler, guided the creaking and sputtering car to a stop in front of a quaint Victorian styled house set near Indian Lake.

The Lakeside Bed and Breakfast was a turn of the century Victorian home which had been converted into a bed and breakfast after Thaddius T. Third the Fifth had bought all of the lakeside property in one, massive land deal, to prevent its development. Indian Lake was nearly two miles straight across at its widest point, lined on all sides with a forrest of evergreen trees and thick, green grass. Along the north shore was an old time swimming hole, which legend had said been opened during the Great Depression, to give the common people somewhere to have fun. The Lakeside Bed and Breakfast was located on the western shore, facing east, so that its patrons would catch the first rays of a new morning.

Ashley Spinelli reached across T.J.'s lap and squeezed his left thigh as she seductively kissed the side of his neck, while T.J. brought the old family car to a stop. The wheezing engine died down and sputtered once more, before T.J. turned off the headlights and pocketed the keys in his jacket. He turned and wordlessly pulled Spinelli close to him, caressing her cheek and running his fingers along her jaw, while he sampled the sweetness of her lips.

"I got a little surprise for you, Ashley," T.J. confessed, kissing her lips ever so softly.

"If you're wearing Señior Fusion underoos, I'm gonna kill you," Spinelli teased. T.J. blushed and laughed.

"Even better," he said, "Come on."

T.J. and Ashley got out of the stationwagon, Spinelli having to throw her bare shoulder against the rusted passenger door, while T.J. went around to the back of the car and removed a portable CD player. Spinelli came up to him, a curious expression on her face.

"Making love to the Top 40?" Spinelli asked, which illicited yet another blush from her boyfriend.

"Something very special," he said as he reached for Spinelli's slim hand. Spinelli took it eagerly as the two teenagers made their way across the sugar white sand of the parking lot towards the front of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast. A warm glowly light came from the windows and the front porch as T.J. helped Spinelli up the steep stairs. Spinelli waited as T.J. opened the door, then stepped inside the cozy inn.

The lobby was done in turn of the century style, with a thick red rug trimmed in gold which ran up the spiral stairs to the bedrooms above. Off to their left was a dark stained oak front desk, its surface polished to a high shine. There was an old guestbook which was off to one side, and an antique brass bell in front. Spinelli tapped the brass bell twice, while T.J. pulled out his pen and signed them in. He paused, looking back at Spinelli uncertainly.

"Should we say that we're newlyweds?" T.J. asked in a hushed whisper. Spinelli giggled.

"Sure," Spinelli cooed, "why not?"

"Mr. and Mrs. ?" T.J. asked, waiting for an answer.

"Detweiler," Spinelli finished, a quirky smile on her lips, "or have you forgotten?"

The door behind the front desk opened while T.J. took delight in signing himself and Ashley in as a married couple, when he felt Spinelli tap him on his shoulder.

"What?"

Spinelli's face was ashen white, her mouth open in shock as she pointed to the desk clerk who stood before them. T.J. looked up...and dropped his pen.

"Miss Finster!" T.J. wailed.

"Well, well, well," the hulking form of Muriel P. Finster hovered over the two young lovers like a gargoyle, "T.J. Detweiler...we meet again. And I see you brought Miss-"

She took the sign in book and turned it slightly, so she could better read what fabrication Detweiler and written down.

"I'm sorry!" she mocked, "Mrs. Detweiler; my, what a beautiful name! Ashley Detweiler. Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?" She cocked a penciled eyebrow at the two lovers.

"I-er-uh-that is-we," T.J. fumbled.

"What are you doing here, Miss Finster?" Ashley asked, mildly irritated.

"I've been retired for a number of years, Mrs. Detweiler," Miss Finster replied easily, leaning on the front desk with a meaty arm, "so I decided to buy this cute little bed and breakfast."

"Oh, how...wonderful," Ashley quipped dryly, "for you...I mean."

"So, Detweiler," Miss Finster glanced back at the sweaty form of her old elementary school nemesis, "I don't suppose you have a marriage licence to go along with that name?" She stabbed a clawed finger at the scribbling.

"Well, you see Miss Fisnter-" Detweiler began, but Muriel Finster held up her hand, not wanting to hear any of his little white lie.

"Spare me the swan song, you truant little hooligan," Finster broke in, "just make sure that you treat Mrs. Detweiler with tenderness; got me?"

T.J. nodded, "Yes, ma'am. Always."

"That'll be-" she did some quick mental calculations, "one hundred bucks even."

Detweiler started to unfold the cash, mostly in small bills, when Miss Finster placed her gnarled hand on the cash.

"For anyone else, a hundred bucks," she continued with a wink, "but for you two-fifty bucks; and I'll throw in breakfast in bed."

"I-er-" T.J. began to stutter once more, so Spinelli stepped in.

"That's fine, Miss Finster," she said politely with a geniune smile, "and thanks." Spinelli removed the cash from T.J.'s hand and gave it to Miss Finster, who stored it in a lock box below the front desk.

"You take good care of him, Spinelli," Finster jerked a thumb at the still stunned T.J. Detweiler, "and go easy on him; I hear young boys break easy."

"I'll take good care of him, Miss Finster," Spinelli winked back, "but I can't promise I won't break him."

As Ashley Spinelli and T.J. Detweiler made their way up the winding staircase to their private room, Miss Finster's cackle could be heard echoeing throughout the inn. T.J. shivered.

"Talk about a major turn-off!" he complained, but Spinelli just laughed.

"I think I can get your little motor running again, boy of mine," Spinelli purred, as she and T.J. walked down the dimly lit hallway towards their room at the far end. Spinelli unlocked the door as T.J. glanced back over his shoulder once more, half expecting to see Miss Finster stomping up the stairs after them.

"Will you relax, Teej?" Spinelli giggled softly, "It's not like she gonna send you to the Box or anything."

"What are the chances of Muriel P. Finster!" T.J. quietly started to complain, but a sudden and deep kiss from Ashley Spinelli melted away his fears. They held each other tightly for several long minutes, tasting the forbidden fruits for the first time. When their lips parted, T.J. exhaled slowly.

"I'm gonna slip out of this dress," Spinelli said slyly, "why don't you put on some of that music and get out of that tux?"

Spinelli paused, then added evilly, "Not all the way; after all I want to have some fun, too."

"O-Okay," T.J. still stood in front of Spinelli, too stunned by her kiss to move for a second or two.

"And you might want to close the door, lover," Spinelli waved a hand at him, while she made her way to the bathroom, "after all, this ain't no peep show."

"Great whompin' bobbula..."

Ashley Spinelli closed the bathroom door, her small, round nose scenting the light fragrances that came from the potporri dish on the sink, as she removed her shoes. She turned one way then the other, as she looked at herself in the mirror, as she realized she was no longer the pig-tailed little girl she once was; she was a woman now. The thrill of finally giving herself to T.J. sent shivers all over her skin as she wondered if this was what it felt like to be married. To go to sleep with T.J. every night, to spend the rest of her life with the one boy she loved more than anyone else in the whole universe was a nice dream.

So, why hasn't that rockhead ever asked you to marry him? she lamented to herself as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, Was it your 'tough as nails' attitude?

Did you make him wait too long for this night?

Why did you make him wait so damn long!

Why won't he ask me!

Maybe it's because you never gave him the chance...

This was it, Spinelli thought; no more school dances. No more double dating with Gretchen and Gus, or partying the whole weekend with Mikey and Ashley Q., only to come home and be grounded for a week at a time. No more secret rendevous with T.J. after school for a little personal time; no more summers just lying around and having fun. No more sneaking out of her bedroom widow to meet T.J. in the middle of the night at his treehouse and no more trying to sneak him past her parents, who always waited up for her whenever Spinelli went out on a date.

There was a certain sadness to it all, she thought; life would never be the same again as it was when she was in school. Still, it had been a good time; four years of high school had made Spinelli grow up in a hurry. Now, T.J. was scheduled for the Naval Academy in the fall, thanks to Gus's father, Major Griswold. A word here, a favor there, and T.J. was in. It was just that simple, when you knew the right people.

Spinelli smiled as she thought about how much T.J. Detweiler had changed since Third Street Elementary. All those years of being around Gretchen Grundler seemed to have rubbed off on the boy, she thought; T.J. was now one of the most driven people Ashley Spinelli had ever seen, once he knew what he wanted. As for Ashley Spinelli, the University of Southern California at Berkley was her first stop on an ROTC scholarship; then right into the Navy. But not tonight; she thought, licking her lips anxiously.

Tonight belonged to them alone...

T.J. Detweiler folded his tux on the chair nearest the bed, his heart beating so rapidly, it pounded in his ears. He cast a glance back at the bathroom where Spinelli had disappeared into some twenty minutes before. All T.J. could see, at the moment, was the light from beneath the bathroom door.

And on the other side of that door...was Ashley Spinelli.

"Okay, Teej, old boy," he fought to keep his breath steady, "just relax and don't pass out on her. No jokes; no wise-ass remarks. Not tonight. Just be your usual charming self."

He sampled his own breath, quickly grabbed a breath spray and doussed some mint on his tongue, while he desperately fought to keep his hands steady. He put the spray into the nightstand, then realised he had not turned down the bed.

Should he? Or would that be assuming too much?

She's not here to play hopscotch with you, you big dope, Detweiler admonished himself.

T.J. paused at that moment, as he reached into his jacket which hung on the back of a chair and removed a small velvet box. He glanced back at the closed bathroom door, to make certain that Spinelli wasn't about to open it, as he looked at the engagement ring he had bought for her.

It was a simple ring; a one carrot diamond mounted on a beautiful gold band. T.J. gazed at it sadly.

How many months had he worked to buy it? He couldn't even begin to guess.

How long had he carried it around with him, every day, always waiting for just the right moment to ask Ashley Funicello Spinelli to marry him? But that moment never came?

He had no clue.

Now, it was too late, he thought; Spinelli had finally voiced what she really wanted to do with her life.

Become a fighter pilot. She'd wanted to be one ever since the fourth grade.

T.J. forced his growing sense of despair back into the shadows once again, where they belonged. He tucked the ring back in his jacket.

After all, he realised wistfully, why would a girl like Ashley Spinelli ever want to marry a bum like you?

Nodding in silent agreement with himself, T.J. jumped up in his briefs, and turned down the bed. Not satisfied, he smoothed out the blankets, hoping that he didn't seem too eager. He sampled his breath again, then realised he had already done it, when the bathroom door suddenly unlocked with a click, and the bathroom light went out. Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, T.J. Detweiler froze...as his heart stopped.

A bluish light cast an amibent glow into the bedroom as Ashley Spinelli emerged, her own heart racing like mad, as she walked slowly towards him, a shy, uncertain look in her dark eyes, as T.J. slowly took in every curve of Spinelli's figure. Her long, tan legs gave way to curvacious hips; her stomach, slim and taut, sparkled with a diamond stud in her navel. Spinelli's mouth was dry, her lips parched. She licked them quickly, trying her best not to bite her lower lip which was her habit since grade school.

"So...what do you think?" she asked breathlessly, well aware that she stood before T.J., with nothing hidden. She turned slowly around, giving T.J. a view from every which way, her mouth dry.

"I-I never knew you...were so-" he began, "I mean, you're so...you're an angel, Ashley."

Ashley Spinelli blushed at the compliment, as her dark, fathomless eyes glanced over at the CD player, which was playing Spinelli's favorite song.

"Come here," she said, pulling T.J. in front of her, wrapping her arms around his bare chest and closing her eyes as she felt his strong arms hold her gently close to him. The heat from T.J.'s bare skin against her own sent Spinelli's senses reeling; she took in a deep breath, sampling his scent as she kissed his neck and chest.

"Love me, my crazy monkey boy," she begged, pulling him down.

And still the music played.

Just one song.

Her favorite song.

And all night, Ashley Funicello Spinelli followed where her heart would take her... 


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE I.  
Somewhere in the Sea of Japan, Present Day...

The darkening skies bellied the comming storm from somewhere to the south as the atomic aircaft carrier USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN was roughly pounded by thirty foot swells. Her deck slowly bobbed in the raging waters of the Pacific from a typhoon not more than one hundred nautical miles from the fleet. At her outskirts were at least a dozen other warships of the Navy's Fifth Fleet, all there for just one purpose...to protect her.

Like tiny sea birds returning to their mother, F-14 and F-18 fighters landed on the rolling deck one by one, each caught by a single tethering line and brought to an abrupt stop on the carrier deck as swarms of deck crew skillfully and quickly manuevered each war machine off to one side to make room for the next landing. For the past hour, Badger flight had been inbound and was currently finishing landing detail. Soon, Badger flight would be home; then it would be Fox flight's turn.

The Captain of the ABRAHAM LINCOLN stood at the railing just outside the bridge tower, watching, as he always did, his flights coming home safely. It was said that while his birds were in the air, the Captain never slept. Captain Thomas 'Buzz' Aldridge never confirmed or denied those rumors; to be as aloof and dispassionate from the rest of the ship was the burden of being Captain. In peace time it was difficult enough to get sufficent sleep when one was captain of a floating city that could deliver, upon command, an air strike virtually anywhere in the world. But since the events of September 11, the ABRAHAM LINCOLN and every other ship in the Fifth fleet had been on constant alert.

It was a different world now, Buzz Aldridge mused to himself; no longer the battle lines of gigantic fleets locked in mortal combat on the high seas. Now it was an order to strike here, or recon there, or just fly around, just to show that you were in the area. And when they were in the area, most of the countries behaved themselves; they weren't stupid. They knew that for every ship on the water you could see, there was another beneath the rolling waves of the Pacific you couldn't see.

The submarines.

An almost forgotten element of the United States Navy, the submarines were, without a doubt, the most powerful and fearsome war machines ever devised. Like tiny underwater cities, the submarines could stay down there for months at a time; even longer...but that was classified. The fact was, the submarines operated completely independant of the surface fleets. Carrying their atomic arsenals deep within their bellies, one submarine could virtually destroy and entire continent with its compliment of multiple warhead ballistic missles.

Then, there were the sub killers.

While they didn't carry much, if any in some cases, in the way of offensive weaponry for use on land targets, the sub killers were still dangerous. They carried dozens of highly sophisticated torpedoes, for use both on enemy subs and for surface ships. Four well placed torpedoes could easily render an aircraft carrier like the ABRAHAM LINCOLN so much scrap metal. While the ballistic submarines might have been the Great White Sharks of the U.S. Navy, the sub killers were the Piranahs.

But never under estimate the power of the carrier, Aldridge pointed out; they were the Mammas of the fleet; everything revolved around her. She was the shield of protection for her children, able to take on an entire city of refugees, as it did when Mount Pinetubo blew in the Phillipines back in the late 1980's. An entire airbase and naval detachement was rescued by a single one of these behemoths. She could enforce a no-fly zone in the deserts of Iraq, or deliver a crushing blow deep within the wilderness of Africa, where many enemies of freedom thought they would be safe.

Yeah, Aldridge considered, the aircraft carrier was one mean bitch when she wanted to be...

Aldridge glanced down at the dispatch from COMSINCPAC only that afternoon; a group of loose papers he held which told of the continuing agressiveness of the North Koreans. He chewed on his cigar as he leafed through them, one by one.

After a ballistic missle test three weeks ago by North Korea, Japan had sent a destroyer into the Sea of Japan as a show of force and as a warning to the growing hosilities that seemed to intesify daily between the two countries. That hositilty could be traced back to World War Two, when Japan had attacked Korea, slaughtering tens of thousands of Koreans during the war. Although World War Two was ancient history to everyone else, the Koreans never forgot.

The Japanese destroyer Yukiawa was severely damaged by the ballistic missle which had slammed into their ship, killing seventy three sailors and injuring scores more. North Korea blamed Japan for the incident, claiming that they had abided by all exsisting treaties when they announced their missle test; it wasn't their fault.

Japan, and many other Asian countries, had seen things differently, however. World protest was united in condeming North Korea for the 'accident', which several had said appeared to be no accident at all. North Korean embassies had been ordered closed in at least a dozen countries.

And that was just the beginning of a series of events that Buzz Aldridge felt would send the whole situation spinning out of control.

The North Koreans and South Koreans had a considerable naval engagement only two days ago; one ship sunk, hundreds on both sides dead. The ABRAHAM LINCOLN had been dispatched to monitor the situation and keep a close eye on the North Koreans. Now, Aldridge realised vaguely, there was a North Korean sub out there, somewhere in the Pacific, that was playing tag with the fleet; and at least three subs from the United States that were also in the area.

What was happening just beneath the waves was anyone's guess...

"Captain Aldridge to Command and Control." the disembodied voice came over the loudspeaker.

Captain Buzz Aldridge glanced to his left at the 'squawk-box' and snuffed out his cirgar on the railing, before he tossed the smoldering weed into the dark, churning waters far below.

"Captain on deck!" a Navy Leiutenant barked, as Aldridge appeared in CNC. It was a large, rectangular room, burried deep below the flight deck, nestled securely under the tower itself. A sprawling room of glittering, colorful lights, screens and chatter, Captain Aldridge came over to a giant glowing table, which showed the position of the fleet at any given moment. Almost at once, Aldridge saw the problem; one of the destroyer escorts which had been assigned to protect the ABRAHAM LINCOLN's starboard flank had fallen back during air recovery operations. His chisled features turned to his second-in-command.

"Robert," Aldridge snapped, stabbing a thick finger at the display, "where the hell is the POTEMPKIN going? Our entire starboard flank is exposed."

"Aye, sir," the bald African American Leiutenant nodded, "Captain Williams reported that the POTEMPKIN has got engine trouble. Admiral Carson has dispatched the HAYES and OLYMPIA to cover for her until the POTEMPKIN is underway again."

"The POTEMPKIN is six months overdue for a overhaul and engine upgrade," Aldridge bit, "and Carson puts that bucket of bolts in charge of our starboard flank. What an asshole."

Robert Thomlinson, the executive officer and Aldridge's personal, hand-picked choice when Aldridge was given the ABRAHAM LINCOLN, nodded briefly. One thing the Old Man couldn't stand was younger, snot-nosed Admirals putting his ship in danger because of their incompetence. Carson was no exception; he was known in most circles as 'Brown Nose' Carson.

"We are a hundred miles due east of the North Korean Peninsula, sir," Thomlinson reasoned, "the HAYES should be in position with about thirty minutes; the OLYMPIA within forty two minutes. Do you think there's a chance that?"

"Brown-Nose Carson has got us at the ass end of the fleet, Bob," Aldridge pointed at the glowing points of light on the battle map, "and swinging south to face the typhoon head on, with our side exposed. Add to that the fact that the North Koreans just got a huge shipment of MIG-29 Russian fighters and spare parts, and we're not looking too good. Those damn MIG-29s slip below radar and skim the surface to their targets."

"You mean us, Captain?" X.O. Thomlinson asked.

"Damn straight," Aldridge thumped his fist on the table, "until Badger flight is safely aboard, order Fox flight to the deck and keep their eyes open; the North Koreans are just itching for a fight. I don't want to give them a free shot at us."

"Aye, sir," Thomlinson replied, then turned to the Operations Officer, "Ops; prepare to swing us about twenty-two degrees. All ahead, two thirds; notify Fox flight to take it to the deck and begin recon until further orders."

"Aye, sir!"

Fist of the Fleet Squadron, Section 3

"Eight Ball, this is Jackass, over," LT.JG. Billy Barton called into his mike, "Eight Ball, are you out there, dahlin'?" His thick, mid-western twang drawled his r's to h's.

"Eight Ball here, Jackass," came the reply, "coming up on your eight at two miles."

"That's what I like," Jackass grinned, looking over his shoulder, "a woman who comes at me from behind with weapons at the ready. Reminds me of my ex-wife."

"Don't get your hopes up too high, Jackass," Leiutenant Ashley Spinelli called back from the cockpit of her F-15-A-D Super Hornet, "I get dinner and a movie first."

"Roger that, Eight Ball," Jackass laughed, "I always knew you wuhs one of them high classy girls."

"What's your beef, Jackass?" Spinelli asked, rolling her dark eyes beneath her visor.

"Mamma says we gotta take it to the deck and watch for the bad guys," Jackass said, "Badger flight's bein' a bunch of wussies about landing when its so rough."

"Awww, poor babies," Spinelli quipped, "maybe we outta tuck them into bed and give them some warm milk as a reward for flying when there's a little rain?"

"Whoooo-doggie!" Jackass exclaimed, "Is that all it would take for you to tuck me into bed!"

Jackass's Navigator, Tonya 'Peaches' Peterson, an African American female with the highest scoring ever in both navigation and radar disernation, chuckled.

"Watch him, Boss," Peaches warned Spinelli, "he tries that line on every woman he meets!"

"Tell me something, Jackass," Spinelli called out, "did you really get your call sign at flight school like everyone else, or was that your mamma's nickname for you?"

"You know me, Eight Ball," Billy replied, "don't ask; don't tell."

"See you on the deck, Fox-Two," Spinelli called back, laughing softly.

Ashley Spinelli trimmed back on the power, glancing at her fuel guage which appeared on the Heads-Up-Display directly in front of her before she flipped on the internal mike. Just behind her, Ensign Sara Nichols, Spinelli's navigator and copilot, chortled.

"Sounds like Jackass has got the hots for you, Boss," she teased.

"Lucky me," Spinelli shot back easily, "Just what I need; a Spam-sucking, trailer trash romance."

"You don't like him?" Sara pressed.

"He's okay, I guess," Spinelli replied, "but I just can't get past those ears of his; they look like goddamn radar dishes."

Sara giggled.

"I've got six thousand eight hundred pounds of fuel," Spinelli called back to her Navigator, "do you copy?"

Sara checked her own instrumentation against Spinelli's, to ensure that both of them were reading it correctly. She nodded.

"Roger, I've got six thousand eight hundred pounds, too."

Spinelli nodded, checking her speed, direction and the all-weather radar. In front of the F-15-A-D, about ninety miles, was typhoon Janice. A huge splotch of red covered the doppler computer which caused Spinelli to frown to herself. The rising winds began to buffet the F-15-A-D, jostling Spinelli and Sara around inside the cockpit. Spinelli's Heads-Up-Display shimmered on the cockpit canopy in front of her, allowing Spinelli to monitor every system on the dual-cockit F-15-A-D without having to look away. Two green gradated bars showing her altitude and heading floated in the air, dancing as the F-15-A-D was shaken from repeated winds.

"I hope the Old Man lets us land this bird soon," Spinelli growled softly, "this wind is kicking my ass."

"Mamma says Badger flight's almost roosted," Sara replied, glancing off to her right, where she could clearly see Jackass's F-14 Tomcat following alongside, "our turn should come soon."

"Eight Ball, this is Jackass, copy?" came Billy's voice again, clear and sharp.

"Go, Jackass," Spinelli replied, listening intently.

"Peaches says we've got something at our six, range ninety miles and closing fast. Do we have any other flights out here, Boss?"

Spinelli's skin tingled at Jackass's tone; he was tense, worried.

"Any of our birds out that far, Sara?" Spinelli called back.

"Negitive, Boss," Sara said professionally, all pretense of humor gone from her young voice, "we're the rear guard on this flight. The birds from the USS ENTERPRISE are flying close in fleet support today."

"Jackass, give the ABRAHAM LINCOLN a ring," Spinelli ordered quickly, "then follow me; I want to check this out."

"Rodger Dodger, Eight Ball," Jackass confirmed.

Ashley Spinelli banked her F-15-A-D Super Hornet hard about and cut in the afterburners, intent on closing the distance quickly. The powerful, twin F-414 engines roared to life, shaking Spinelli's insides. The driving rain began to beat against the windscreen with such force that Spinelli had to yell to be heard above the noise, calling back over her shoulder.

"Sara, give me a tactical; I can't see a damn thing through this shit."

"Online," Sara called back. The battle computer flickered to life, then sharpened its image to reveal three MIG-29 FULCRUMs and one SU-37 SUPER FLANKER, no doubt their leader, closing at subsonic speed, skimming the surface of the turbulent Pacific. This wasn't a recon probe, Spinelli decided quickly; this was an attack force, bent on sinking the ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

"Christ!" Spinelli's eyes bugged out, "Eight Ball to Jackass!"

"Go," Jackass instantly replied.

"I've got three MIG-29 FULCRUMs and an SU-37 on the deck at just sub-sonic; they're trying to slip beneath the radar! The ABRAHAM LINCOLN is wide open!"

"This is Fox-Three to ABRAHAM LINCOLN," Spinelli relayed to her aircaft carrier, "repeat, this is Fox-Three!"

"Go, Fox-Three," came the calm reply.

"I've got intruders on the deck, bearing niner-five degrees at eighty miles now and closing!"

"Roger, Fox-Three," CNC said, "intercept and determine intent, over."

"Roger!" Spinelli flipped two switches on her joystick while she began barking orders into her mike.

"Fox-Two, follow me! Sara!"

"Go, Boss," Sara answered immediately.

"See if the ABRAHAM LINCOLN can send us some more backup!"

"Understood!"

Ashley Spinelli throttled her engines forward, as she felt the thrust of her plane throw her and Sara into their seats. Spinelli kept her bird level and straight, watching the blip on the tactical screen close in at blinding speed. A sudden thronging alarm sounded in Spinelli's helmet as her blood went cold.

"DANGER! MISSLE LAUNCH!" the computerized voice rang out in her head, "DANGER! MISSLE LAUNCH!"

"They're launching against the ABRAHAM LINCOLN!" Sara cried, horrified as she saw the missles represented by red blips on her screen close the distance between themselves and their ship.

USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Captain Aldridge's vision was obscurred by the interior lights as they went from normal to blood red. Alarms and klaxtons began to blare throughout the ABRAHAM LINCOLN CNC, as personel began scambling about.

"VAMPIRES! VAMPIRES!" the Operation Officer cried out, "Incomming missles!"

"General Quarters!" Captain Aldridge barked, "All hands to Battle Stations! Bring our PHALANX online!"

"SIR!" Thomlinson reported, "TAC reports the incomming vampires to be EXCOCET missles!"

"Hard about!" Aldridge demanded, "All ahead flank! Prepare for impact! Launch alert five aircraft!"

But Captain Thomas 'Buzz' Aldridge already knew it was too late...

Fox-Three

"We've got two incomming EXOCET missles, twenty klicks and closing fast!" Sara cried out, her voice near panic.

"Them sonsabitches will sink Mamma," Spinelli growled to herself, "those EXOCETs are ship killers! Jackass! Do you copy!"

"Right here, Boss," Jackass said.

"I can't get them both," Spinelli spat, "you'll have to take one; I'll get the other. Don't let it past you; even one of the EXOCET missles could send the ABRAHAM LINCOLN to the bottom!"

"You got it, Eight Ball!"

"Sara! Gimme all missles at the ready!"

"You're gonna go missle to missle!"

"Those EXOCETS are big and slow, compared with our AIM120s, Sara," Spinelli explained quickly, "we stand a good chance of splashing them if we head directly at them and launch!"

Sara flipped two switches, "You got it Boss! Plus five hundred and seventy rounds of twenty caliber ammo!"

"Lock on the lead missle!" Spinelli ordered, "Hurry!"

"Lock on secured!"

"Fox-Three, fire Fox-One, fire Fox-Two, fire Fox-Three!" Spinelli called into her headset.

The fire control computer responded, and three missles lanced forth from under Spinelli's F-15-A-D, roaring away as Spinelli fought the F-15-A-D for control; launching three missles in the high winds caused her tiny plane to shutter violently.

"Missles away!" Sara yelled, "Contact in three seconds!"

"Come on, baby," Spinelli wished as she helplessly watched the three blips close in fast on their targets, "Gimme a splash!"

From just ahead of them, slightly to the right, Leiutenant Spinelli saw a sudden, brief flash in the darkness and rain; the tactical indicated that only one EXOCET missle had been destroyed. The second EXOCET was still on its course directly for her carrier.

"Damn!" Spinelli cursed, "Eight Ball to Jackass!"

"Go, Eight Ball!"

"You got any Sparrow missles on your bird!"

"Negitive," Jackass reported, "just four AIM 92s and two empty external fuel tanks, copy?"

"That won't do the trick," Spinelli thought furiously, "Those 92s are very short range. Go to your main guns, Jackass; I'm goin' in. If I miss, it's your baby. Don't let that sonofabitch past you! Save those 92s if the MIGs get too close to you!"

"Switching to the guns, Eight Ball," Billy said.

"Let's do this by the numbers," Spinelli bit, as she prepared her plane for combat, "Jackass, stay up with me; we're going sonic!"

"I always let the lady lead me, Eight Ball," Jackass crooned, "Just watch youself, Boss!"

"You, too," she whispered as Spinelli edged her throttle forward as far as it would go. With a thundering BOOM, Lt. Ashley Spinelli's F-15-A-D shattered the sound barrier...

USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN

"Status!" Aldridge bellowed.

"One EXOCET splashed by Fox-Three," the Operations Officer reported, "one incomming; Fox-Two's missles are short ranged 92s; he's down to his guns."

"Order the PHALANX to begin probes," Aldridge said to his X.O., "If we get hit by that thing, we're going straight to the bottom with all hands."

"Sir," Thomlinson reported, "Fox-Three is going in; but satilite recon indicates three MIG-29s and an SU-37 closing on her position."

"Damn," the Old Man growled, "That SU-37 is their leader; if we can splash him, the others might just turn tail. Any of Badger flight still airborn?"

"Just Badger Four," Thomlinson said, "and he is fully loaded with AIM 120s. Plus, we have our alert five aircraft; but they won't be in range for at least ten minutes."

"We don't have but two minutes, maybe three. Send Badger-Four," Aldridge ordered, "and order Fox-Two to cover Fox-Three's ass; those MIGs mean business."

"Aye, sir," the X.O. acknowledged.

Fist of the Fleet Squadron, Section Two; Badger-Four

Johnny Vermachelli, aka Johnny V., lined up on the rolling deck of the ABRAHAM LINCOLN when his headset sparked static and a call came through from CNC.

"Ops to Badger-Four," CNC called.

"Badger-Four, Roger," Babytooth replied, "Go, ABRAHAM LINCOLN."

"Roger, Badger-Four," CNC said, "Fox-Three and Fox-Two in tango with three incomming MIGs; divert and assist, over."

"On my way, Mamma," Babytooth called out as Johnny V. gunned the engines of his own F-14 Tomcat and skipped off the flight deck, banking sharply to the north.

"Did you copy last, New Kid?" Baby Tooth called back towards his own Navigator, Marine Leiutenant Gustav P. Griswold.

"Roger, Babytooth," Gus replied, his hands flipping through the sequence nesessary to bring the F-14 Tomcat to battle ready, "all weapons online; tactical online. Let's go get 'em, Johnny!"

"Hold on to your britches, boy," Baby Tooth snarled, "Eight Ball's in deep shit this time; I'm gonna kick this pig!"

"Works for me!" Gus shot back as he was slammed against his restraining harness.

"Peaches, this is New Kid, copy?" Gus called out.

"Go, New Kid!" Peaches replied, her transmission static filled.

"We're inbound, your location," New Kid informed her, "contact with you in thirty eight sierra, copy?"

"Thirty eight seconds is about thirty five seconds more than we have, New Kid!" Peaches called out, "Hurry Gussie! Those MIGs are comming in hot and heavy!"

Johnny V.'s F-14 carved out a blue flame in the dark skies as Badger-Four crossed the sound barrier with a resounding boom...

Fox-Three

"DANGER! MISSLE LAUNCH! DANGER! MISSLE LAUNCH!"

"Shit!" Spinelli cried over her shoulder harness, "Two more EXOCETs just got launched! Gimme a firing solution!"

"Remaining missles locked!" Sara reported back, "But this is our last volley!"

"Eight Ball to Jackass!" Spinelli spat.

"Go, Eight Ball!"

"I've now got three total EXOCET missles inbound!" Spinelli said as she thought furiously, "I can only take down one, maybe two more; copy!"

"I'll catch the leftovers, Eight Ball!" Baby Tooth called out. An F-14 Tomcat slammed on its airbrakes as it came out of super sonic speed with a boom that Spinelli could feel in her bones.

"Johnny!" Spinelli cried out for joy, "Is that you!"

"None other, Sweets!"

"Stay with Jackass," Spinelli said, feeling a wash of relief come over her, "help him take these bastards down!"

"We're on top of it, Eight Ball!" Baby Tooth sang out, "Go get 'em!"

"Roger!"

Ashley Spinelli fought the bucking controls as she ordered the computer for lock-on; the computer confirmed and Spinelli fired her remaining missles in a tight volley at the incomming nightmares.

"Fox-Three, fire Fox-four, fire Fox-five, fire Fox-six!"

Spinelli's F-15-A-D shook violently once more as the remaining missles in her cluster launched from their perches beneath her wings; their flaming tails clearly visible in the night sky. Without warning, all three missles detonated less than a mile from the nose of Spinelli's plane. The F-15-A-D shuttered as Spinelli flew past the debris that had been the EXOCET missles. A warning buzzer sounded as a glowing schematic winked out on Sara's panel which monitored the engines.

"Boss!" Sara cried, "We've got a flame out on number two engine!"

"It must have sucked in some of that debris," Spinelli gripped, "don't worry, Sara; we're not down yet!"

"But we're completely dry!" Sara reported, "No missles!"

"I'm switching to the guns," Spinelli said, flipping back the tiny panel on her joystick and postioning her thumb on the trigger, "those guys ain't goin' home until they've had their pound of flesh!"

"You splashed two EXOCETs with that volley, Eight Ball!" Baby Tooth reported, "Nice shooting!"

"Save it, Baby Tooth!" Spinelli growled, "I'm down one engine, dry on my missles and these boys still want to dance!"

"I'm at your three position, Eight Ball!" Jackass broke in, "Just keep it low and level; I'm above you now!"

"I'm on the last EXOCET, Eight Ball!" Johnny barked.

Babytooth's F-14 pulled away, shaking violently as Johnny V. slammed his engines through their mountings, trying to close the distance with the deadly EXOCET ship killer.

"Roger, Johnny!" Spinelli said, "Jackass, prepare to scissor left; I'll take one MIG-29, you take the other. The SU-37's already turning tail! Looks like he's the smart one!"

"Ready when you are, Eight Ball!"

"GO!"

Spinelli went hard right, kicking in the afterburners as she lined up on the elusive MIG-29, while Jackass went left, firing his cannons at the nimble his own MIG-29, who seemed to dance through the hail of gunfire.

"Whoooo-doggie!" Jackass crowed, as he twisted his F-14, "This boy's slippier than a greased piggy!"

"Stop screwing around and down that plane!" Spinelli barked at Jackass.

"He's too far for guns, Boss," Jackass said, "I'm comming back to you!"

"Negitive!" Spinelli ordered, "Take him down with your AIM92s!"

"Fox-Two, fire Fox-one!" Jackass said, as the voice recognition system launched an AIM92 directly at the MIG-29 dead ahead.

"Good lock!" Jackass reported back to Spinelli, "Impact in eight seconds!"

"Stay with him until he gets flamed, then form up on me!"

"But, Boss!" Jackass said, "You don't have a wingman!"

"If we don't take these boys down, Jackass," Spinelli gritted, "we won't have a ship!"

Spinelli's fighter jostled from the backwash of the Russian MIG-29 as it turned and twisted, attempting to throw her off; but Spinelli was right on top of him, firing her 20mm nose chaingun in short, controlled bursts, as she clipped the deadly fighter. The MIG-29 continued to fly a short distance further, before her left wing folded, then completely snapped in two, the Russian plane now bound for a watery grave below.

"Got him!" Spinelli grinned. A sudden, screaming alarm made her smile fade in an instant.

"It's the SU-37, Boss!" Sara screamed, "He doubled back! He's firing!"

The deadly SU-37 that had peeled off, giving Spinelli the impression that he was fleeing, had doubled back and had Lt. Ashley Spinelli in his gunsights. A firey spray of bullets danced across the sky as Spinelli frantically went right as she attempted to roll away.

"DANGER! EVADE! DANGER! EVADE!" the computerized voice yelled.

"He's got us!" Sara screamed, "Shoot him!"

"Our guns are dry!" Spinelli said, "Sara, dump the externals; we've got to escape to warn the fleet-"

A sudden roar of bullets ripped through the cockpit as Fox-Three broke apart, disappearing right in front of Fox-Two in a fiery shower of smoke and debris.

"EIGHT BALL!" Billy screamed, as he and his Navigator, Peaches, helplessly watched Ashley Spinelli's shattered F-15-A-D fighter veer off as her starboard wing burst into flames. The fighter fell from the sky, first rolling onto her back, then headed straight down, nose-first. Billy Barton watched in horror as his flight leader's F-15-A-D plumetted towards the cold, dark waters of the Pacific far below...

Badger-Four

"JUST DO IT!" Johnny V. ordered, "DUMP EVERYTHING! I NEED TO BE ABLE TO MANEUVER!"

"We can't kill that missle without our missles!" Gus pointed out.

"Our only chance is to take that thing down with the guns!"

New Kid flipped a switch, then pressed a button as he watched their extra fuel and all of their missle compliment drop harmlessly into the Pacific Ocean.

"Dump complete!"

"Hang on, Gustav," Johnny sneered, throttling his Tomcat to full power, "we're only gonna get one shot at this!"

Baby Tooth lined up on the quickly advancing, subsonic missle as the EXOCET came at them at blinding speed. The F-14 Tomcat and the EXOCET missle were on a collision course, heading at each other, nose to nose.

Baby Tooth waited as the microseconds ticked slowly by; with the lightest touch, Baby Tooth let out a wall of super hot lead which split the EXOCET missle in two with a firey explosion.

"Holy!" Gus stammered, not believing his own eyes, "You-you did it!"

"Badger-Four, this is Fox-Two," Billy called out somberly.

"Go, Fox-Two," Babytooth replied.

"Two MIG-29s splashed," Jackass reported quietly, "The SU-37 turned tail and ran; but Eight Ball is down."

"Spinelli!" Gus cried out, but Johnny V. ordered him silent.

"At ease, Leiutenant," Babytooth said, "get on the horn to the ABRAHAM LINCOLN; tell them we've got a downed bird."

"This is Badger-Four to ABRAHAM LINCOLN," New Kid said, choking back his tears, "we've lost Fox-Three. Do you copy?"

"Acknowledged, Badger-Four," the ABRAHAM LINCOLN replied, "return to base; we're on our way..."

"Roger," Gus said as he sat back. He sat there, feeling as though he'd been punched in his gut.

"Hey, Johnny?" Gus called forward.

"Yeah?" came the soft response.

"You think they made it out okay?"

"Spinelli's the best damn pilot in the U.S.Navy," Johnny V. replied, fighting back his own fears, "if anyone could survive that, Spinelli could. Now, shut the hell up; I've got to land this plane."

II.

USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Lt. Gustav P. Griswold headed down the forward hatchway towards medical and Ashley Spinelli, who had been fished out of the churning waters of the Pacific only hours before. According to what Gus could gather, Spinelli had suffered only superficial injuries when she ejected from her F-15-A-D.

She had been lucky.

Sara Nichols was still missing.

Gus stopped at the double hatch entryway to the medical section of the ABRAHAM LINCOLN, his stomach knotted with worry. He stepped through the entrance and glanced about, looking for the on-duty Corpsman.

"Excuse me," Gus called out to a young female nurse, "I'm looking for Leiutenant Ashley Spinelli; the pilot who was rescued a little bit ago from a downed F-15-A-D. May I see her?"

The nurse looked back at the handsome young Marine Leiutenant, still dressed in his flight suit, then noticed his wedding ring.

"Are you her husband, sir?"

"No," Gus said, "but I was with her flight when she was shot down."

"I'm not allowed to let anyone but the chief surgeon and her commander-" the young nurse began, but Gus put his hand on her shoulder.

"Please," he asked softly, "she's been my friend since grade school; just five minutes? Please?"

The young nurse glanced about uncertainly, then nodded.

"Five minutes, sir," she said, "no more; and I don't know anything about this. Recovery room 12; down the hall, to your left."

"Thanks," Gus said, as he slipped past.

Gus stopped cold at the door to Spinelli's room, as he gazed upon his friend's frail body tucked beneath the sterile white sheets. Her face, normally angellic, was bruised and swollen; a gauze bandage covered a group of stitches that ran along her hairline, high on Spinelli's forehead. Her lips were swollen slightly as well, mostly from the minor surgery she had been through within the last two hours and the painkillers she had been given. Still drugged, Spinelli laid on the bed...silent, unmoving.

Lt. Ashley Spinelli's eyes slowly opened, as the familiar form of Marine Lt. Gustav P. Griswold hovered over her bed. She could feel Gus brush the hair from her eyes, a worried look on his tiny face turning to that of relief as he saw Spinelli's dark eyes focus on him.

"Hey, Spin," he whispered gently, "how are you feeling?"

"Like shit, you jarhead," she coughed.

"Well," Gus said, stiffling a laugh, "at least your sense of humor's back; that's a good sign."

"Have they found Sara yet?" Spinelli asked, her voice tense.

The question caught Gus off guard; he knew she would want to know.

"No...not yet," he said quietly.

"She was my responsibilty, Gus," Spinelli bit back her tears, "it was her first flight; that's why they gave her to me. I was supposed to watch out for her."

"You did everything you could," Gus told her.

"But-" she began, but Gus cut her off.

"She knew the risks, Spinelli," Gus remined her, "we all do; that's part of the job. Sara was young, but she knew what could happen."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Spinelli shot back venomously.

Gus just took Spinelli's bandaged hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

"No, it isn't," Gus replied, "it's supposed to hurt; that's how we know someone meant something to us."

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," Spinelli confessed, her tears coming forth in torrents. Gus sat on the edge of her bed, holding her close as Ashley Spinelli wept bitterly, "It's cost me too much."

"Yes, you can," Gus soothed, "this is what you were born to do."

"But...how?" Spinelli asked, looking up at him from the warmth and safety of his arms, looking very much the fourth grader Gus once knew.

"We'll find a way...together," Gus said as Spinelli let her emotions out, craddled in the arms of one of her best friends in the whole world...

III.

Pearl Harbor Naval Air Station, three months later...

Lt. Ashley Funicello Spinelli stood at rigid attention in her dress whites, her long, jet black hair pinned up, her hat on the desk next to her. Directly in front of her, not more than three paces away, the Board of Inquiry which had been conviened to review the circumstances of the engagement and the subsequent death of Ensign Sara Ann Nichols. The Board was made up of Spinelli's superiors and their peers, all of which had sat in relative silence during the three days of testimony from Ashley Spinelli and the following day of cross examination by the Board. Over and over, Leiutenant Spinelli relayed the events of the encounter with the MIG-29s and the mysterious SU-37 off the coast of North Korea, which had nearly turned into a nuclear confrontation between the two nations; only an intervention from the Chinese had narrowly averted World War III.

Now, it was time for the Board of Inquiry to render its decision.

Ashley stood there, unmoving as the Board entered the room and officiously took their seats at the long table. Spinelli was vaguely aware of the morning light which filtered through the windows off to her right, shedding its warm glow as Spinelli's eyes quickly darted from one Board member to the next; but she could not read their faces, let alone their thoughts.

"Naval Aviator Lt. Ashley Funicello Spinelli, step forward," Admiral Carstairs said. Spinelli took three steps forward and saluted him, to which Carstairs replied before continuing.

"Lt. Spinelli," he said, "is there anything else you would like to add into your testimony at this time before this Board of Inquiry renders its verdict?"

"No, sir." Spinelli swallowed hard, her eyes tearing slightly.

"Is there anything that you would like to say to this Board on your behalf that should be taken into consideration?"

"No, sir."

"Is there any part of your testimony that you would like to amend?"

"No, sir."

"Are you prepared to recieve the judgement of this Board?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you do so with the understanding that you have waived any right for legal representation?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, Leiutenant."

Admiral Carstairs glanced from one end of the long table to the other, silently receiving the nods from the other members before he removed the paper from his folder. He looked at Spinelli.

"Naval Aviator Lt. Ashley Funicello Spinelli, service number 0032X47B, currently on assignment with the naval aircraft carrier USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN," he began, "it is the decision of the Board of Inquiry that on March 12 of this year, during an engagement with several enemy fighter craft off the coast of North Korea, you acted accordingly with the rules of engagement and the safety of both your ship and those under your command at the point and time of contact. You are hereby to be commended for your actions which reflect both the spirit and the duty of every person in uniform, whatever their duties may be.

"As to the death of Navigation Officer Ensign Sara Ann Nichols," he continued, "this Board of Inquiry finds no fault with any decision that you made, any action that you took or any resulting condition arising from those conditions. Her death is a terrible loss to the Navy, to the country and to her family, but an unavoidable one."

At this, Spinelli winced, her eyes filling with tears as she tried not to show any emotion in front of her superiors. Admiral Carstairs concluded.

"Your flight status is reinstated," he said, "and you are also hereby promoted to the rank of Leiutenant Commander, both effective immediately. You are to be temorarily reassigned to Fallon Naval Air Station in Nevada for additional flight training. This concludes this Board of Inquiry."

The mid-morning sun shined down upon the five figures gathered within the USS ARIZONA monument, casting a surreal light upon those that Ensign Sara Nichols had left behind. Each stood at rigid attention, eyes forward, as Commander Lance McCormick, commanding officer of the squadron Fist of the Fleet of the USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN slowly went down their ranks. Upon each officer, Cmdr. McCormick pinned the Distinguished Flying Cross, which was taken from a cherry oak box lined with red velvet. In all, there were six medals; but only five people to recieve them.

Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Funicello Spinelli stood as stoic as the monument itself, her long, ebony hair pinned up, leaving only her long bangs in front. Dressed in her dress whites, Spinelli fought back the tearing that blurred her vision as her commanding officer stepped in front of her and pinned upon her uniform, the Distinguished Flying Cross. Cmdr. McCormick said nothing during the small ceremony, but remained as silent as those sailors who were still within the hull of the destroyed USS ARIZONA.

McCormick paused after he pinned Spinelli's medal on her, looking deep into her fathomless, dark eyes, as dark as midnight, gleaming like two black diamonds in the soft morning light. Spinelli did not return the commander's gaze, but kept her eyes on some distant point far beyond Pearl Harbor.

McCormick had seen that look before...in his own eyes, more than twenty years before during Desert Storm. It was a bitter thing to lose a flyer; it was even worse when that flyer was also your subordinate. McCormick said nothing, made no motion, as he started to close the oak box in front of Spinelli. With a swift, yet soft movement, Ashley Spinelli put her hand on the box, next to his own. He looked at her expectantly.

"Sir," Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli began, "with your permission, I'd like to take charge of Sara's medal."

"Why?' Cmdr. McCormick asked in the same, soft tone.

Lt. Johnny Vermachelli glanced sideways at Lt. Gustav Patton Griswold, while Gus's jaw only flexed in both sadness and anger at losing one of their own. Next to Gus, Lt. JG. Billy 'Jackass' Barton stood at attention, but his overly large sky blue eyes were misted. Next to Billy, his Navigator, Tonya 'Peaches' Peterson wept openly, but silently; her tears streaking down her dark skin. She looked at Billy, who offered not a smile, but a reassuring warmth in his expression. Peaches smiled to thank him.

"I'd like to present Sara's medal to her parents myself, sir," Spinelli replied "Sara wasn't just my Navigator and subordinate, sir...she was my friend."

"Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli," McCormick said in a subdued tone, "that duty is the responsibility of her commanding officer. That means me."

"I know, sir," Spinelli said in return, looking McCormick in the eyes, "but I know she want would do the same thing for me, sir."

Commander McCormick glanced sideways at Spinelli's Wing section, then nodded briefly.

"Very well, Spinelli." He offered the box to Ashley, who took it reverently from him, her hands wrapped tightly about its high luster finish. McCormick turned to the other flyers.

"I could go into a long winded speech about how Sara gave her life for her country," he said, as he paced back to stand in front of them, "but I don't consider this ceremony a funeral, which is why I chose to hold this ceremony at this memorial; to remind us all of the duty we may, someday, be called upon to perform. This is to honor all of you as well as Sara, for the heroism of saving the USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN. As far as I am concerned, Sara is still with us in spirit. Sara meant a lot to all of us but we can't let her death prevent us from doing our jobs. We're still Navy pilots, when it's all said and done. We have a job to do now...and Sara would want it that way.

"Captain Aldridge put in a request eight weeks ago that each of you attend the Navy's Fighter Weapons Training School, at Fullon Air Station in Nevada. You will report there immediately upon dismissal for six weeks of intensive fighter combat and flying evaluation."

McCormick waited for his words to sink in, then barked, "Dismissed."

The small group began to break up as McCormick turned to the railing of the USS ARIZONA monument.

"Not you, Spinelli," he added, from over his shoulder.

Spinelli paused, then looked back at Babytooth, New Kid, Peaches and Jackass, as she silently waved them to go on without her. Johnny V. looked back at Spinelli with a worried glance, to which Spinelli tried to reassure him with a small smile of her own. Johnny V. trotted after the rest of the group, while Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli came up next to Commander Lance McCormick. For a long time, McCormick said nothing, but watched a seagull lazily glide about the shimmering waters of Pearl Harbor. He looked down into those blue waters, and saw his own reflection, along with Ashley Spinelli, peering back at him.

"When you first came to the ABRAHAM LINCOLN," he began, not looking at her, "You were nothing more than a snot-nosed rookie pilot, fresh out of flight school."

He leaned on the railing while he spoke, casting a sideways glance at Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli. She said nothing in return, finding it difficult to meet her commander's steady gaze. Instead, Spinelli watched the same seagull fly about, leaning on the rail next to McCormick, shoulder to shoulder while he spoke.

"Spinelli, I've seen you go from that snot-nosed rookie fighter pilot to section leader in just under three years; that's some accomplishment. But you've got to get past this guilt. It wasn't your fault."

"I can't get Sara's death out of my mind, sir," Spinelli lamented softly.

"You have to let her go, Spinelli," McCormick insisted, gazing out at the harbor, "when you become a leader, one of the first things you realise is that you're going to lose people; that's just part of the business."

"I'm not so sure I want to be a part of this business anymore, sir," she said flatly.

"This country needs good officers like you Spinelli; and so do I."

Spinelli felt flush as McCormick looked at her with folded arms.

"You saved the ABRAHAM LINCOLN and all aboard from those missles," he continued, "if it weren't for you, Billy, Tonya, Gus and Johnny V., we wouldn't be having this conversation now. Sara gave her life to ensure the lives of the crew of the ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Do you want Sara's sacrifice to have been in vain?"

Spinelli felt ashamed and embaressed.

Sara's ultimate sacrifice would not be in vain, she decided.

"No, sir," Spinelli replied, "I wouldn't want that at all."

"Then get your gear packed," McCormick said firmly, but with a smile, "because you're going to TOP GUN."

"Yes, sir." 


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

I.  
North Island Naval Air Station (Halsey Field) San Diego, CA, USA

"Where is he, Detweiler!" Lt. Kurt Russo, aka Reaper, screamed into his mike, "I can't see him!"

Reaper took his two-seater F-14 Tomcat into a steep dive, then banked sharply to starboard, which slammed his copilot into the canopy, while the pursuit plane closed the distance, preparing to end the encounter quickly with the death of Able-One. Reaper threw his plane into a nose dive, then banked sharply to the left, cutting back on his power.

"He's trying to get on our six, Russo!" Lt.JG. T.J. Detweiler, aka Prankster Prince, shot back, "He's trying to get a lock! Evade! Evade!"

"Shit!" Russo spat, "He's all up my ass! I can't shake him!"

"Roll right! Roll right!" Prankster Prince shouted, trying to look over both of his shoulders at the same time as Reaper took the F-14 Tomcat into a barrel roll, breaking right. The Tomcat shuttered violently as the intruder aircraft turned sharply, staying right behind Able-One.

"Roll right! All the way out!" Prankster Prince cried.

"Shut up, Detweiler!" Reaper barked, "Who's flying this plane!"

"We can get around in back of him if you kick in more power, Reaper!"

"Don't frickin' argue with me you!"

BEEEEEEP

The simulated missle struck the F-14 Tomcat, thus ending the exercise-and Able-One.

"And that, boys and girls," came a disembodied voice over the radio, "is how we clean and cook our kill."

"DAMN!" Reaper tore off his oxygen mask as sweat poured over his face. Reaper angrily flipped off the simulated targeting alarm that indicated they had been shot down-again. T.J. fell back into his seat as he slammed his fist on his thigh.

"Able-Three to Able-One; you gentlemen better land that plane," the voice ordered, "after all, you're supposed to be dead."

"Roger, Able-Three," Prankster Prince called back, gritting his teeth, "Able-One on our way home."

"What the hell is your problem, Russo!" T.J. yelled as he pulled himself from the F-14 cockpit, "We could've had Able-Three! We had him in the inside turn! Why didn't you take it!"

Kurt Russo turned back on Detweiler, shoving a gloved finger at his copilot. His dark, green eyes, flecked with gold, were on fire. Both men were nose to nose as Russo spit when he yelled.

"Don't screw with me, Detweiler!" Russo warned, "If you had picked him up earlier, we could've flamed his ass without so much as breaking a sweat! That's your job!"

"So, it's my fault!"

"This is the third fricking time we've been flamed because you're too damn busy trying to tell me how to fly the plane!"

"Well, maybe somebody should!" T.J. shot back hotly, "You're supposed to keep him from getting on our ass!"

"Oh, yeah!" Russo shoved at T.J., who shoved back almost at once; both men reared back their fists when three other pilots broke up the scuffle on the tarmac.

"Whoa, relax, boys!" Shark Bait told each of them in turn, while both T.J. and Russo were physically restrained by their fellow pilots, "Remember we're all on the same team, right?"

"Attention!" called Winger, who held Russo back, when he saw their commander approach.

Immediately, all five men froze where they were and stood perfectly still as Commander Jeremy 'Ironbutt' Brady came up to the group. Shark Bait saluted, but Ironbutt ignored him. At five foot seven inches tall, Ironbutt Brady may not have been physically impossing, but his voice spoke volumes.

As did his intolerance for incompetance.

"You two characters in my office, now!" Ironbutt barked, "The rest of you wingnuts, get your asses to debriefing!"

"Yes, sir." Detweiler and Russo said in unison.

They both followed their highly irrate commanding officer towards a long, low building. Commander Brady jerked open the door and pointed down the hallway as Detweiler and Russo scowlled at each other. Brady stormed into his office as a young, blonde female ensign bolted upright at attention.

"Connie, hold my calls," Brady ordered, not slowing as he threw open his office door and stomped inside, while the young ensign gave T.J. Detweiler a quick wink, and closed the door after Detweiler and Russo entered.

Jeremy Ironbutt Brady was short and bald as a cueball, with a high polish to his skull, which glowed with a bright shade of red as he stood staring out the window at the tarmac beyond, watching various fighter and refueling craft land and take off. He tossed his helmet onto the black immitation leather couch which also doubled as his bed when he had one of his numerous arguments with Mrs. Ironbutt.

"Sir, I-" Russo began, but the hot, searing look from his commanding officer made Russo think twice about saying another word. Brady's eyes bugged out so far, it appeared as though they would leap from his clean-shaven skull and beat Russo senseless.

"Do you know why I'm such a happy person today, Russo!" he snarled. Russo swallowed hard.

"No, sir," Russo said dimunitively.

"Because this morning started out so nice," Brady growled, failing his arms about, "I got a little piece of tail from Mrs. Ironbutt, I had a good bowel movement and Connie finally figured out how to use the goddamn coffee maker!"

Brady walked over to Russo and motioned for the six foot one inch tall Kurt Russo to bend down, until Brady was nose to nose with him.

"AND YOU'RE SCREWING IT UP!" he screamed into Russo's face.

Brady walked around his office, feeling his ulcer beginning to flare as he turned and pointed a finger at each of them in turn.

"This is the third time you two jokers have been flamed by me because you're to damn busy up there arguing like a couple of old ladies at a church Bingo!"

"Sir," Detweiler began, but was cut off by Brady.

"Shut your pie hole, Detweiler!" he barked, "You're still swimming in shit with me over that little stunt you pulled on Admiral Henesy last month during inspection!"

"Now," Brady seethed, "let's all go through flight school 101 one more time, for those of you ladies who were asleep! When you see a bad guy, you shoot the bad guy before he gets a chance to shoot at you...AM I COMMING THROUGH LOUD AND CLEAR!"

"Yes, sir!" Detweiler and Russo sang back.

"And you do not-I repeat, DO NOT-start a fist-fight on my tarmac! ARE WE CLEAR, LADIES!"

"Yes, sir!" they parroted.

"Good," Brady snapped, "because if either one of you chimpanzees throws a punch at the other, you're both going to be out of my Navy so goddamn fast, your collective asses will be striking sparks on the street all the way to the unemployment lines! This is the United States Navy, gentlemen, not a frickin' schoolyard! Are we clear!"

"Yes, sir!" they repeated.

"Now," Brady said, glowering at them, "despite the fact that you've been shot down three times in as many days, I was summoned to the Admiral's office this morning. Somehow the admiral thinks that just because you two clowns are the best flyers in the Wing, he wants to send you to TOP GUN!"

T.J.'s eyes bugged, while the sides of Russo's mouth turned up in a grin that often made grown men wonder what their wives were up to.

"Sir," Russo started, "I really think that only I should-"

"Don't think, Russo!" Brady barked back, "Every time you think, you weaken the nation!"

T.J. stiffled a giggle, which only invited more verbal abuse by Ironbutt.

"You find something funny, Detweiler!" Brady snapped.

"No, sir!" T.J. replied quickly, recovering himself, "But I've been telling Russo that for over a year, sir!"

Kurt Russo shot Detweiler a hot look, flexing his jaw, while Brady got up nose to nose with T.J..

"You think your're pretty cute, don't you, Detweiler!"

"Well, I have been told that my eyes are my most striking feature, sir!" T.J. said seriously, keeping a straight face.

"You secure that shit, Detweiler!" Ironbutt ordered, poking a finger at Detweiler's face, "I'm in no mood for any of your pre-pubescent crap!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Are we to leave immediately, sir?" Russo asked.

"As soon as you can get your gear collected," Brady said, as he went over to his desk and issued the admiral's orders to Detweiler and Russo, "but there's no way in hell I'm sending you two juvinile deliquents together on the same team! Russo, you've got Shark Bait as your Navigator! Dismissed!"

Russo saluted as he spun on one foot and left Brady's office. Brady glared at Detweiler.

"Detweiler," Brady said, shaking his head, "you've got to be the best, most instinctive Navigator in the Navy. You can spot a plane on radar that even the satilites could miss and could shoot the ass hairs off a fly while you're going mach two.

"But your childish antics, like replacing Admiral Henesy's slide presentation with pictures of the lastest Playboy Playmate of the month is gonna get your butt deep fried. You've been in the Navy now almost seven years and you're still a Lt.JG. because of that kind of crap. I want you to grow up; there's going to be no time at TOP GUN for any of your pranks. Are we clear on this?"

"Crystal clear, sir," Detweiler said, more subdued now. Brady walked around to the other side of his desk and lit a cigar, then cast a glance back at T.J..

"Detweiler," Brady asked, more calmly, "why didn't Russo roll right, like you told him to?"

"I guess it's because I'm just the copilot, I should just watch the radar, sir," Detweiler said.

"You keep that instinctive edge, Detweiler," Brady told him, "and you'll win that TOP GUN spot."

"I'll do my best for you and the guys, sir," Detweiler nodded, "but, what will I do at TOP GUN without a pilot?"

"Captain Mitch Deacon from Fullon Air Station tells me that he's going to be getting a pilot who doesn't have a Navigator. The two of you will be teamed up during TOP GUN."

Mitch Deacon? T.J. thought...could it be?

"Sir," Detweiler said slowly, a confussed look on his face, "would that Mitch Deacon be, by any chance, Ghost Rider?"

"The same, Detweiler," Brady acknowledged, "the best damn fighter pilot in the world today and the TOP GUN head Instructor."

"Yes, sir," Detweiler responded.

"You're F-15-A-D qualified, right?"

"Yes, sir," Detweiler answered.

"Alright, son," Brady waved him off, "get your shit together and get to Fullon Air Station on the double."

"Yes, sir." Detweiler saluted and began to leave when Brady called out to him.

"This is your last chance, son. Don't screw this up."

"I won't, sir," T.J. said.

"For the record," Brady said, wiping away the sweat from his bald head, "Russo is an asshole; put him in his place when you get to TOP GUN."

"With pleasure, sir," Detweiler grinned.

II.

The taxi slowed then stopped as the rear passenger door opened and Ashley Spinelli steeped out onto the curb and glanced uncertainly at the small, well kept home. Spinelli turned back to the driver, gave him his fare and a generous tip, which he thanked her for.

"Sure you don't want me to hang around, miss?"

"No," Spinelli said quietly, "but thanks."

The driver nodded and pulled out into traffic as Spinelli stood on the sidewalk which ran to the front door of the yellow brick house, trimmed in colorful flowers. It had a wide front porch with an American flag displayed prominently, which fluttered in the early afternoon breeze of the Honalulu suburb. On the front door of the home was a black wreath.

Ashley Spinelli removed a small oak box from her purse and opened it; inside was the Distinguished Flying Cross. She traced its outline with her finger, tears flowing down her cheeks. Her dark, fathomless eyes, hidden behind her sunglasses, looked back to the house, as she chewed on her lower lip. Without a further thought, Spinelli walked up the sidewalk and to the front porch. She paused as she gazed upon the black wreath, her heart fighting fiercely within her chest, while she forced herself to climb the steps and ring the doorbell.

A moment later, an older gentleman, which reminded Ashley of her own late father, answered the doorbell, wearing silver rimmed glasses. He had a full head of nearly snow-white hair, a thick moustache nad was dressed in a short sleeved button up shirt. He held a newspaper in his right hand as he blinked several times at the young, beautiful Naval Officer who stood at his door step.

"May I help you, miss?" he asked, his voice somewhat strained. Spinelli could tell that he had been crying only a short time ago; his eyes were still red.

"Pardon me, sir," Ashley Spinelli said softly, "but are you Mr. Nichols?"

"Yes," he answered, "that's right; who are you?"

"My name is Ashley Spinelli," she replied, "I...I was Sara's friend. Sir."

"Anthony?" an old woman's voice called from somewhere within the house, "Who is it?"

The older woman appeared next to her husband. Spinelli was momentarily taken back; she looked exactly like Sara would have looked in about twenty five or thirty years.

"This is Ashley Spinelli, Gloria," Mr. Nichols said slowly, "she was Sara's friend."

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you both , Mrs. Nichols," Spinelli said, removing her sunglasses, "but I was hoping I could give you both something that belongs to Sara. I wanted to make certain that you recieved it personally. I hope that I'm not intruding."

"Please come in," Mrs. Nichols responded, "you were Sara's friend?"

Ashley Spinelli stepped into the home, the inviting scent of home baked bread filled the small house, which was filled with bouquets of flowers. On the mantle were dozens of pictures of Sara; when she was a baby, a little girl. Some where of Sara and her friends; others of her family.

"Yes, ma'am," Spinelli said, "she was a dear friend; I'm so sorry for your loss."

Both of Sara's parents looked at each other for a long moment, searching within themselves and in each other's eyes, before Mrs. Nichols took Ashley Spinelli's hands gently and smiled as best she could.

"You're very kind, Miss Spinelli," she said, "won't you come in? It would be very nice to talk to someone who knew our Sara."

"It's comforting to meet someone who was with her," Mrs. Nichols said, as she busied herself refilling Ashley Spinelli's cup with fresh brewed coffee, "we got a visit from a Navy Captain and, of course, from the chaplin; but they were rather distant and unfeeling about Sara."

Mrs. Nichols sat down next to Ashley on the couch, with Sara's father sitting in his chair, off to one side.

"I suppose that they must do that sort of thing so often," she continued, "that they become used to the grief of the families left behind."

"Can you tell us what happened, Miss Spinelli?" Mr. Nichols asked, "All we were able to find out was that there was some sort of conflict."

Ashley Spinelli thought about what she would say.

Screw it. Let them court martial me, she decided, they need to know what a hero Sara really was.

"Sara was my Navigation Officer," Spinelli began slowly, "we were on routine patrol when we were attacked by several MIG fighters. They launched several missles aimed at the ABRAHAM LINCOLN."

Mrs. Nichols took her husband's hand as she stared at the beautiful young female officer.

"Sara kept her cool and did her job," Spinelli continued, "without her, the ABRAHAM LINCOLN would have been sunk and a lot of people would have died. Sara locked on and destroyed those missles; but, in an ensuing dogfight, I...we, were shot down."

Mrs. Nichols held her husband's hand tightly as she cried softly.

"This belongs to Sara," Ashley said as she held out the velvet box and opened it for her parents to see, "I wanted to bring this to you both myself; and to tell you that Sara saved my life and so many others. I wanted to tell you what a hero Sara was..."

Mrs. Nichols took the small box from Spinelli slowly, craddling it in her shaky hands as though she were holding the most precious thing she ever held; since she could no longer hold her little girl. After a long moment, Mrs. Nichols looked back up at Ashley Spinelli through her tears and stood, pulling Spinelli up with her gently.

"Would you come with me, Miss Spinelli?" she asked, "I want you to have something of Sara's to remember her by."

"Oh, Mrs. Nichols," Spinelli began, shaking her head, "I couldn't-"

"Please," she insisted, "we never got to talk with Sara very much after she was transfered to the ABRAHAM LINCOLN; but when we did, Sara always spoke very highly of you."

Ashley Spinelli nodded, "Thank you, ma'am."

The door to Sara's bedroom opened slowly as Mrs. Nichols enetered the room that once belonged to her daughter. Spinelli followed, looking about at the things that she herself might have had in her own room, so long ago. Mrs. Nichols picked up a teddybear from Sara's bed. It was brown, with large, brown eyes and arms that were outstretched, always wanting to be hugged. Mrs. Nichols held the bear for a time, stroking it as though she were stroking the hair of Sara, then turned to Ashley.

"I don't know how many times Sara loaned out her very own teddybear to her friends when they were in need of comfort," she said with a soft smile, "but I think that Sara would want you to have him; you seem to need a little extra love and tenderness in your life right now."

She held out the teddybear to Spinelli, who wordlessly took it from Sara's mother, stunned by the generous offering.

"I really shouldn't, Mrs. Nichols," Spinelli said, offering the bear back to her, "it's far too precious."

"All it will do around here is collect dust," Mrs. Nichols said, holding up her hands in polite refusal, "and Sara wasn't like that; she would want you to have Theodore to comfort you."

"Theodore?" Spinelli blinked.

"That's what Sara named him," Mrs. Nichols said, "she must have a hundred stuffed animals in this room, but she couldn't stand the idea of even one of them not having a name."

"I'll treasure Theodore always, Mrs. Nichols...I swear."

III.

Fullon Air Station, Nevada; One Week Later...

It was just after sunset when Lt.Cmdr. Ashley Spinelli's flight aboard a C-5A Starlifter touched down at the MAC terminal of Fullon Air Station. Spinelli wandered through the near empty terminal as she searched for her only piece of luggage, then began to head outside, wanting to find a base taxi to take her to her billeting quarters, when she heard someone call out her name from within the terminal.

"Spinelli!"

Ashley Spinelli looked about in confusion for a second, before she spotted the unmistakeable figure of Gretchen Grundler, now Gretchen Griswold, running toward her, waving her arms.

"GRETCHEN!" Spinelli cried, as the two old friends fell into each other's arms, laughing and hugging each other tightly.

"What in the Samuel J. Longhorn hell are you doing here!" Spinelli demanded, taking a step back to look Gretchen Griswold over, "And how come that jarhead husband of yours didn't tell me that you would be here!"

"He didn't know until he arrived this afternoon that I would be here," Gretchen laughed, "I knew you'd be on a later flight, so I waited around. Since I'm a part of the Department of Defence military analyst detachment, I was able to pull a few strings-and here I am!"

"God, Gretch," Spinelli hugged her old schoolyard friend once more, "you don't know how good it is to see you!"

Gretchen Griswold said, "Do you have time for a quick cup of coffee on me?"

"Best offer I've had all day, girlfriend," Spinelli smiled.

"I haven't seen you since you and Gus got married three years ago!" Ashley Spinelli continued, as she and Gretchen Griswold sat a snack bar booth, huddled over a large, steaming cup of java.

"And now, look at you!" Spinelli said, grinning from ear to ear, "In the Marine Corps, and pregnant!"

Lt. Cmdr. Gretchen Griswold blushed furiously, trying to hide her embaressment, while Spinelli giggled like a fourth grader. Gretchen's long, red hair was pined up in a simliar fashion to that of Spinelli's, her thick glasses now replaced with contacts which made her whole face seem far more beautiful. Gretchen was indeed pregnant, her otherwise slim abdomin now swollen with her first child.

"How far are you along?" Spinelli asked, taking another sip of the delicious coffee.

"Almost five months," Gretchen replied, "Gus was so happy when he found out!"

"And you?" Spinelli asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm thrilled," Gretchen said, "but I've got to be honest; I'm scared, too."

"What for, Gretch?"

"I just hope that I'm as good a mother to my baby as you've been to Angelina," Getchen said quietly.

"Don't sweat the small stuff, Gretch," Spinelli waved away Gretchen's concerns, "being a mother will come instinctively; it did for me. Hell, I never thought about having kids, really; but, when I got pregnant with Angelina, it all fell into place."

"Speaking of which," Gretchen said slowly, more tacticfully, "have you heard from T.J. since?"

Gretchen left the question unfinished, but Spinelli knew what she meant.

"Since Angelina turned two years old, you mean?" Spinelli finished Gretchen's sentence for her, then shook her head no.

"When I first told Teej that I got pregnant after that night we spent at the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast," Spinelli began, gazing at her coffee sadly, "he started sending home to me all the money he earned."

Her eyes teared as she continued, "He was so proud, Gretch; he was so happy. We both were."

"What happened?" Gretchen asked.

"My father found out T.J. got me pregnant, that's what happened," Spinelli winced at the memory, "I thought he was going to kill T.J., Gretch. He was so mad. I can still hear him screaming at me at the top of his lungs."

Gretchen placed her thin hand on Spinelli's, who's hands were visibly shaking.

"T.J. wasn't allowed to leave the Naval Academy," she continued, "so, when he finally did get some leave, I was giving Angelina her second birthday party. T.J. called Vince's older brother Chad and told him to tell me that he was flying to California to be with me and Angelina."

"I didn't know you and Chad knew each other directly," Gretchen said.

"After Vince pulled that little stunt with the football tryouts in our Senior year at Washington High," Spinelli related, "I started to talk to Chad more; we kept in touch by email when I went off to Berkley after I had Angelina. My parents sold their house and moved with me to California, so that I could be with my daughter; they took care of my baby while I finished school."

"That's sweet," Gretchen said quietly.

"That's what was so weird, Gretch," Spinelli said, looking up her her friend, "my father absolutely adored Angelina. When I got my first sonagram, I showed it to my dad, and he said 'there's my little angel'."

"So, that's why you called her Angelina," Gretchen said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Spinelli mused,"but he hated T.J.. Like T.J. was some kind of monster, or something. I reminded my father that I was there, too. I wanted to be with T.J. that night."

"Anyway," Spinelli continued, "when T.J. flew out to Berkley to see us, I was so excited; T.J. was even dropping hints, here and there, about us getting married. But when he showed up at the house, my father went ballistic. He started...started to hit T.J.; right there on the front lawn. I ran outside with Angelina in my arms, thinking like I could stop him if I had her with me, but my father was out of control."

"There we were," Spinelli outstretched her hands, "my father screaming at T.J., I was screaming for my father to stop hitting him, my mother was screaming at him, trying to protect T.J. ...Angelina was crying. He beat T.J. to a pulp, because T.J. didn't defend himself."

Gretchen sat in front of Spinelli, horrified. Spinelli's eyes flowed over, tears and mascara running down her high cheeks. Gretchen took a hankerchief from her purse and came around to sit next to Ashley Spinelli, as Gretchen gently wiped the tears from Spinelli's face.

"He told T.J. never to show up again," Spinelli concluded, "and ever since then, I haven't seen or heard from him. He continued sending home all the money he was getting from the Navy while he was in the Academy, which is what helped me and my mom to take care of Angelina after my father died a year later. He still sends all the money he earns to help me take care of her; but, God, just once, I'd like for T.J. to see and hold Angelina."

She added, "Though I'd probably kick his butt the moment I saw him, too."

Gretchen Griswold cried beside Spinelli now, her own tears flowing as freely as those of her best friend's.

"If it weren't for T.J. after my father died, my mother and I would never have made it this far. I would never have become a fighter pilot."

"But he never came to see you again?" Gretchen asked softly.

"I guess by then T.J. felt that he was the worthless bum my father always called him," Spinelli shrugged her shoulders, "I think he thought I felt the same way, too, as my father did."

"And you haven't heard from him since?"

"No," Spinelli sighed, "so, after my father died, my mother started to follow me, with Angelina, all around the country, while I went to Officer's Candidate school, then flight school in Florida. She's been a real trooper. She takes care of my baby. I'd be lost without her."

"So, it's just the three of us, now," Spinelli finished, "and I guess that's the way it will always be."

Spinelli then glanced at her watch.

"Listen, Gretch," she said, "I should get going. My mom's expecting me, and I really need to see my baby right now. But let's get together again, okay?"

"Absolutely," Gretchen said, "I'll see you again tomorrow morning."

Ashley Spinelli got out of the base taxi, hefting her luggage beside her as she waved the taxi off and proceeded up the walk towards the base housing, feeling very run down and in sore need of a bath. She paused and glanced at the numbers painted on the sides of the various buildings. Quickly checking a slip of paper, Spinelli smiled with relief as she made her way to the building closest to her and home.

The front door of Ashley's billeting opened up suddenly, as her mother, Flo Spinelli, came running out and threw her arms around her daughter, covering her with kisses and taking her heavy suitcase while she and Ashley disappeared inside.

"Pookey, I'm so glad you're here!" Flo said in a hushed tone.

"I'm sorry I'm late getting in, mom," Ashley apologised, "but I had to see Sara's parents before I left Hawaii."

"There's no need for any explanation, sweetheart," her mother replied, "I'm just so glad to see you."

Ashley took off her uncomfortable shoes, still dressed in her dress whites, as she looked about the small, two story apartment.

"Where is she, mom?" Ashley asked.

"Up stairs, in bed," Flo said, "but she won't go to sleep until she sees you."

"Okay," Ashley said, as she headed for the stairs, "I'll be right back."

"Take your time, Pookey," Flo smiled, hugging her daughter once more, before Ashley Spinelli went up the stairs, trying to work out the cramps in her feet, as she carried a plain brown paper bag with her.

At the top of the stairs, down the hallway, was a door that was still open; a faint light filtered through the darkness as Ashley Spinelli headed towards the door and peeked in at the little girl who was in bed.

Angelina Anttoinette Spinelli was the very image of her mother; long, raven-black hair, dark, gleaming eyes and a small, round nose. But unlike her mother, Angelina had curly hair and a light sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

Just like her father.

"Hi, baby," Ashley cooed gently.

"Momma!"

Ashley went to her daughter's bedside and let the seven year old Angelina Spinelli jump into her arms, hugging her mother and covering her with kisses. Ashley held her daughter close as Angelina started prattling on about how much she missed her.

"So," Ashley said, lowering her daughter back down into the bed, "have you been a good little girl for Grammy?"

Angelina shook her head emphatically yes, her long, dark curls dancing about her heavenly face.

"Yes, Momma," Angelina said, "but I missed you a whole bunch!"

"Did you really?" Ashley asked, kissing her daughter on the tip of her nose, which caused Angelina to giggle wildly.

"Yes, Momma," she said, "and Grammy missed you lots."

"I missed you and Grammy lots, too. Have you been taking good care of Grammy for me?"

"Yes," Angelina said, "but Grammy cries sometimes; she missed you a whole bunch."

Ashley looked down for a second, then back at her daughter.

"I brought you a present," Ashley confided.

"What is it, Momma?" Angelina begged, her eyes wide with excitement.

Ashley opened a brown paper bag at her feet and pulled out Sara's teddybear.

"A teddybear!" Angelina cried out for joy, as she took the stuffed toy from her mother with a sloppy kiss and hugged the poor bear tight.

"Ohh, Momma!" Angelina said, "he's sooo pretty! What's his name?"

"Theodore," Ashley said quietly, while she delighted herself in running her long fingers through Angelina's curlly black hair.

Angelina giggled again, holding the bear in front of her.

"He looks like a Theodore!"

"He's a very special teddybear," Ashley said, still running her fingers through her daughter's hair, "a girl named Sara wanted you to have him."

"Theodore was her teddybear?" Angelina asked, concerned, "But, Momma, why would she give me her teddybear? He's the bestest teddybear in the whole world!"

Ashley's heart ached, but she managed to smile softly.

"Well," Ashley explained, as she began to cover up Angelina, "Sara knew that you and Grammy get a little lonely sometimes; so, she wanted to give you Theodore to keep you company."

"Thank you, Momma," Angelina said, kissing her mother once more.

"Sure, baby," Ashley cooed softly, "but, it's getting late and I think that Theodore is very tired."

"Yes, he is, Momma," Angelina yawned.

"Did you take a bath?"

Angelina shook her head yes again, her curls hanging gently about her face.

"And did you brush your teeth?"

Angelina bared her teeth to show her mother that she had brushed them. Ashley smiled.

"And did you say your prayers?"

"Umm...no," Angelina confessed, "I wanted to wait for you."

"Well, let's say them together, okay?" Ashley said as she pulled Angelina's tiny body into her lap, holding her close while her daughter prayed.

"Dear God," Angelina said, her eyes closed tightly, "thank you for Momma and for Grammy and for Theodore, too."

Ashley watched her pride and joy, her reason for living, as Angelina finished her prayers.

"And God?" Angelina added, "Please take good care of my Daddy, too; and please bring him home. I miss him a whole bunch. Amen."

Ashley closed her eyes in pain; every night that she heard Angelina's prayers, it was always the same. She always prayed for her father, whom she had never seen, to come home.

And Angelina wasn't the only one who said the same prayer.

"Okay, let's get you under those covers, young lady," Ashley sighed, tucking her daughter, with Theodore by Angelina's side, "it's way past your bedtime."

"Are you going to be home a lot now, Momma?" Angelina asked hopefully.

"Yes, baby," her mother replied, smiling, "every night for a long time."

"And can we go to the park and to the movies and to the-" Angelina started, but Ashley just kissed the tip of her daughter's nose to silence her.

"Yes, baby," she said, "we'll get to do all of those things. But you need to go to sleep."

"Okay, Momma," Angelina smiled back as she yawned once more. She clutched Theodore close as she closed her eyes.

Ashley kissed her daughter on her cheek and started to leave the room, when Angelina called after her.

"Momma?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Does God really hear me when I pray?"

"Of course He does, baby."

"Then how come Daddy hasn't come home? I miss him a whole bunch." Angelina's tiny, round face puckered in a frown.

Ashley looked away from her daughter, a brief, fleeting sense of anger crossed her face before she replied.

"I miss him too, baby," Ashley said, looking down as she avoided the question, "now, go to sleep. We'll have pancakes in the morning, okay?"

"Okay..." Angelina replied, already half asleep, Theodore tucked in the crook of her arm. 


	4. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

I.

Fighter Weapons Training School, Fullon Naval Air Station, Nevada...

Day 01

Time 07:00...

The blazing red sphere of the morning sun painted the sky above Fullon Air Station a canvas of crimson and amber hues, streaked with firey golden wisps of clouds as the Nevada desert shook off the chill of the night and prepared for a new day. The soft chirping of crickets that had been present during the night was suddenly shattered by the screaming explosions of two F-14 Navy Tomcats as they flew wingtip to wingtip across the Nevada desert leaving behind them a hellish blue fire in their wake. Arcing across the early morning sky, the two warbirds turned east, vanishing in the distant morning sunlight.

The briefing room, jammed with pilots, came from every branch of the Armed Forces and several were from NATO countries. For the past fifteen minutes, a soft spoken but intensive buzzing of conversation was quickly silenced when the entire room was ordered to attention.

Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Funicello Spinelli saw TOP GUN instructors enter from several directions at once, from several doors. The first Top Gun instructor to approach was an older man, Spinelli judged; about mid-forties, with a close cropped haircut. His jumpsuit indicated that he was a Marine Commander, with several patches that Spinelli recognized from both Desert Storm and the Saudi-Isreali conflict of 2007. He stood at parade rest, hands firmly clasped behind his back. His eyes were intense; two blue orbs that slowly scanned the room, touching upon each pilot and navigator present.

"At ease," he commanded, as the pilots all took their seats once more, their eyes now fixated on him.

"My name is Commander Matthew Swenson, call sign Assassin," he said simply, "and I would like to take this opprotunity to welcome you to Fullon Air Station. Here, for the next six weeks, you will learn more than you were ever taught at your respective flight schools. Here, you will become the best pilots in the world."

"In the early years of the Vietnam war," Assassin continued, "the U.S. was not achieving the level of superiority in air-to-air warfare that it had enjoyed in previous conflicts. By 1968, concerned about the relatively low kill rations achieved in Southeast Asia, Captain Frank Ault, serving with the Naval Air Systems Command, recommended the formation of a graduate level school to train a nucleus of fighter crews who would be highly trained in Air Combat Maneuvering and weapons systems employment. As a result, the Navy established TOP GUN at the Miramar Naval Air Station in 1969. It was a four week course that provided Navy pilots instruction that simulated realistic combat conditions.

"TOP GUN was designed to train experienced Navy and Marine Corps fighter aircrews at the graduate level in all aspects of fighter aircraft employment, including tactics, hardware, technique, and the current world threat. The course of instruction includes approximatley eighty hours of lectures and a rigorous flight syllabus that pits student aircrews against a ever-widening variety of threat aircraft. Ultimately, each new graduate of the Navy Fighter Weapons School will return as a Training Officer carrying the latest tactical doctrine back to his operational squadron."

Assassin stood to one side as he jestured to his right, where a tall, lean African American man stood.

"I would like to present Captain Mitchell Lewis Deacon, call sign Ghost Rider; currently TOP GUN's chief instructor."

Ghost Rider, Lt. Detweiler breathed to himself from the back of the briefing room; the best fighter pilot in the whole world.

There were several gasps emitted from the pilots; virtually no one present thought that Ghost Rider was even real, let alone the chief TOP GUN instructor. Spinelli, who sat in the very first row near the center isle, sat there in front of the living legend, completely stunned.

Mitch Deacon was tall; at over six foot five inches, Ghost Rider pushed the absolute limit of how tall a pilot could be and still effectively fly a fighter. Lean and taut, Ghost Rider was completely bald; no hair, not even eyebrows. Every muscle in Ghost Rider's face could clearly be seen flexing when he talked. Though it was somewhat unusual for a officer of Mitch Deacon's ranking to continue with fighter pilot training, it wasn't completely unheard of. Mitch Deacon approached the center of the room, studying the youthful faces he found staring back at him.

"Forget everything you thought you knew about TOP GUN," his voice boomed so loud, that Spinelli involutarily flinched; when Ghost Rider spoke, his voice was the sound of thunder.

"The world is an ever changing place," he continued, "the collapse of the Soviet Union, Desert Storm, and the tragic events of September 11, have forced the United States military to employ a brand new strategy in dealing with the various possible senarios you will encounter. TOP GUN has risen to that ever changing world by offering the very best training that can be found anywhere. Ignore what you may have seen at the movies, or on TV; that's all Hollywood. This-" he pointed a finger directly at the polished floor, "is the real thing."

T.J. Detweiler grinned as he felt a charge of energy well up from within him. He looked about at the other pilots; they too, were now sitting straighter, listening intently to anything Ghost Rider had to say. Because only those who listened to Ghost Rider lived.

"Today, TOP GUN hosts training to every branch of the military; therefore, you will be seeing your fellow pilots in a wider variety of fighter craft than ever before. We also are now hosting selected pilots from various other NATO countries including Isreal-"

Ghost Rider pointed to Yami Goldbeck, who waved at the other pilots.

"-and from Great Brittain-"

He pointed to Annie Walsh, a navigator. She gave a relaxed salute.

"These pilots are the best back where they came from. Now, its our job to make them better."

"To accomplish this goal," Ghost Rider went on, "the TOP GUN instructors, including myself, will be flying various aircraft from both NATO and the former Soviet Block. Some of the TOP GUN instructors you will get to know; others will reamin detached from the class, so that their tactics will not become familiar to you. You will be encountering many different types of aircraft, so that you will be as prepared as possible."

Ghost Rider briefly locked eyes directly with Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli, who's skin tingled. He then continued.

"TOP GUN is not a prison," he said, sitting on the small wooden desk, glancing at each of the pilots in turn, "when you are not in classes or in flight, you are free to do whatever you like; but make no mistake. There won't be much time for partying while you're here. You will be expected to log a minimum number of hours of flight time. This is a graduate course in fighter combat, flying and weapons employment; the assumption made by the instructors at this school is that you already know how to fly your plane. Our job at TOP GUN is to help you fly it better. "

"There is one thing I want made perfectly clear right from the start," Ghost Rider said, his dark eyes roaming about the room, "This is a school; you are attending a class. I am aware of the mystique surrounding TOP GUN; and that you want to win the TOP GUN trophy. To do so means you will have an option to return to TOP GUN as an Instructor yourself. But this is also a place to learn. I want everyone here to leave NAS Fullon a better pilot than they were when they arrived."

"To assist us in this task, the U.S. Department of Defence has assigned TOP GUN a military analyst, which should be able to answer any questions you might have about enemy aircraft. Listen to her. I strongly suggest that you avail yourselves of this unique opprotunity to familiarize yourselves with enemy aircraft. Because the next time you see one, it will be attempting to shoot you out of the sky."

Ghost Rider motioned and a very pregnant Gretchen Griswold came through the back doors, headed for the front of the room.

Lt. T.J. 'Prankster Prince' Detweiler's gum that he had been chewing on fell to the floor as he spied Gretchen.

"GRETCHEN!" T.J. bellowed. All eyes went to the back of the room. Gretchen turned and audibly gasped at the Lt.JG. Detweiler.

"T.J. DETWEILER!" Gretchen squeeked.

Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Spinelli shot out of her seat, dumping her books and papers all over the floor as she whirled about and stopped cold at the sight of T.J. Detweiler at the back of the crowded briefing room.

"T.J.!" she cried out. T.J. turned lightning fast and nearly passed out at the sight of Ashley Spinelli, who stood at the front of the room, glowering at him.

"SPINELLI!"

T.J. couldn't believe it; it was her. Ashley Spinelli.

That same raven black hair, dark, fathomless eyes and lips that he could have kissed all day long. She wasn't a teenager anymore, she was a woman. The more pilots that looked at her, the more grins appeared in the room as every male pilot continued to gawk at Spinelli's heavenly figure beneath her flightsuit. Kurt Russo whistled softly to himself, admiring T.J. Detweiler's taste in friends.

The only movement in the room for the next few moments was that of the seconds hand on the clock on the wall; the only sound was that of the gentle tick tick the clock made. Ghost Rider walked over, hands on his slender frame, as he glanced between T.J. Detweiler and Ashley Spinelli. He wagged a finger between them, pointing to one, then the other.

"I take it you two know each other?" he asked, his skin, where his eyebrows should have been, arched questioningly.

"Yes, sir," Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Spinelli said, not taking her eyes off of T.J., "we're...old friends."

"I am glad to hear that, commander," Ghost Rider said easily, "because Detweiler, here, will be your navigator during TOP GUN."

"Excuse me, sir!" Spinelli gasped.

"Is there a problem, Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli?" Ghost Rider asked.

"No, sir," she bit.

"Now listen up Spinelli; you need a navigator."

His finger pointed at Detweiler.

"And you need a pilot. Catch my drift?"

"Yes, sir," they both answered in unison.

"Good," Ghost Rider nodded, "now get to mission briefing; you're going up in thirty minutes. Dismissed."

"Come on, Spinelli!" T.J. begged, as he ran to catch up with Spinelli, "Wait up!"

Spinelli suddenly whirled about, which caused T.J. to instinctively recoil, but Spinelli simply pointed at the gold leaf cluster on her shoulder.

"My name's Lt.Cmdr. Spinelli, Leiutenant Detweiler," she seethed, "is that clear?"

T.J.'s smile faded slightly as he realised Spinelli was serious.

"Uh, yeah...um...yes, ma'am."

Spinelli just looked at him in silence for a second or two, then resumed her march towards the flightline, her black helmet with a white circle and a black number eight painted in the center of it, while T.J. ran to catch up with her once more.

"I'm sorry, Commander Spinelli, if I caused you any embarassment." T.J. said honestly. Spinelli stopped again and turned to the boy.

"No, I should apologise to you, Leuitenant," she said flatly, "that was conduct unbecoming a superior officer."

"Look, um..ma'am," T.J. fumbled, "can't we just start over?"

"Wipe the slate clean, you mean?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Alright," Spinelli relented, "but only when we're on duty."

She started to walk again, but T.J. jumped in front of her.

"Come on, Spin!"

"Leiutenant Detweiler," Spinelli began, trying to sound officious, though her voice was shaking.

"You wanna bust my chops, Spin!" T.J. lashed out, "Then go right ahead! But there's no way in hell I'm climbing into a cockpit with Lt.Cmdr. Spinelli!"

Spinelli stood there with her arms folded, trying to ignore the stares and whistles she always got whenever she slipped into her flightsuit, as the other pilots walked by. She directed her dark eyes into T.J.'s deep blue eyes.

"But you would for Spin?"

"Anytime," he answered truthfully.

Spinelli leaned against the concrete wall, while T.J. leaned on it in front of her. Spinelli looked at T.J.'s face, her dark eyes peeking out from the bangs which hung over her forehead.

"At least give me a chance to explain," he insisted.

"Explain what?" she spat, "Do you know what it's like to hear our daughter pray, night after night, for her Daddy to come home to her? To have to explain to a small child why she never hears from her own father?"

"Your dad will never-" T.J. began, but Spinelli cut in.

"My father is dead, T.J.," Spinelli stood upright and pushed her way past him, headed for her plane, "if you had stayed in touch with us after you got out of the Naval Academy, if you had answered any of my letters, instead of just sending home some money every thirty days, you would have known that."

T.J. stood there, stunned, as Spinelli pushed past him and left the building out into the bright sunshine of the Nevada desert.

Good job, Detweiler, he fumed at himself, real mature...

II.

'Your first mission will be a simple speed and agility test. You will be required to manuver your fighter along a very narrow corridor, while avoiding TOP GUN instructors, who will be flying MIG-29s. Operational ceiling is only three thousand feet; hard deck is three hundred feet. Stray from either of these boundries, and you lose.'

-Ghost Rider

"My scope's negitive!" Spinelli called out, "I don't see anything!"

"Trust me, Spin!" Detweiler said, as he tried to get a visual on Assassin, who was dogging their heels, "Assassin's flying a pre-modified MIG 29; they're bad at taking high g turns!"

"Are you sure about that!"

"Trust me!"

"Can you give me a layout of our course!" Spinelli asked, fighting the controls.

"Online!" Detweiler instantly replied.

The course was laid out precisely; Spinelli marvelled at the speed and ease with which T.J. had calculated their path.

"Nice job, Prankster Prince!" she complimented.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Prankster Prince pressed.

"Not a chance!" Spinelli grinned to herself; maybe she would forgive the boy, given the time. But no one said that Ashley Spinelli's forgiveness was going to be painless.

"Wait! I've lost him!" T.J. said, looking in all directions, "Assassin must have gone low! Watch your belly, Spin!"

Spinelli inverted her F-15-A-D, so that they were now flying upside down.

"Do you see him!" she called out.

"Got him!" Prankster Prince called back, "Two-niner degrees at one point seven nautical!"

"Too close for missle lock," Spinelli thought, "I'm switching to the guns!"

"Here he comes!" Prankster Prince called out, as Assassin roared by.

"Just what I was hoping he'd do," Eight Ball smiled, as Spinelli flipped the F-15-A-D upright and kicked in the afterbunners, dropping down behind Assassin's tail.

"You got him, Eight Ball!"

"Almost in range," Spinelli growled, as she began to line up on Assassin's tail pipe. Just a few more seconds...

"Wait...this is too easy," Prankster Prince mumbled, as he began searching the sky though the canopy.

Spinelli blinked; it was too easy.

"Watch our six, Teej," Spinelli called back, "Assassin might just be a decoy."

"You called it, Boss!" Prankster Prince shouted, "I've got two another bogies at fifteen nautical, going for a missle lock!"

"Shit!" Spinelli gripped, "I can't drop out of the shot now, or Assassin could swing around and nail us!"

"Push the speed, Spin!"

"What!"

"Go faster!" T.J. urged, "Assassin's plane is putting out more heat than we are-"

"I get you, Teej!" Spinelli smiled, as she slammed the throttle of the F-15-A-D forward. With a sudden burst of speed, Spinelli forced Assassin to expend more fuel...and hence, produce more heat.

Maybe Assassin's heat output could hide them...

"Looks like those kids are wise to us, Ghost Rider," Assassin said with a grin, "maybe we're getting too old for this business."

"Says you," the deep voice of Ghost Rider replied, "I'll swing right, then go for laser-targeting instead."

"Cheater," Assassin joked.

"Not cheating, just good piloting," Ghost Rider answered seriously, "Spinelli's a damn good pilot; no doubt about that. But she's too by-the-book. Maybe that character, Detweiler, can loosen her up a bit and let her fly instinctively again."

"I hear Detweiler is a real loose cannon," Assassin said, "a good navigator, but a serious discipline problem. Did you hear about that little joke he pulled on Admiral Henesy?"

"In my opinion, Henesy deserved it." Ghost Rider said, "But Spinelli is a very different story."

"She's the one that encountered those MIGs off of the coast of North Korea, a few months back, right?"

"The very same," Ghost Rider said.

"I heard she got a Distinguished Flying Cross for that engagement," Assassin thought back, "not bad."

"She also got shot down and lost her navigator, too," Ghost Rider added, "which is what worries me."

"Why's that?"

"From what I've been able to gleen from her file," Ghost Rider said, "she used to be a slick pilot; instinctive and resourceful. But now, she's playing it too safe. Go left; I'm closing."

"Got it," Assassin acknowledged, as he took his plane in a steep bank to the left, watching as Spinelli's F-15-A-D turned in time with his smaller, more nimble aircraft, "Shame about her navigator, but flying by-the-book isn't so bad."

"No, it isn't," Ghost Rider said, lining up on Spinelli's tail and flipped a switch, preparing to get a target lock-on, "but the enemy knows the rulebook, too, Matt. Spinelli might look real pretty flying around in the Nevada desert, but in the real world, she wouldn't last too long."

"Hmm," Assassin chewed, "you think she's affraid of losing her navigator?"

"It sounds to me," Ghost Rider said, "that she's scared of screwing up again, yes."

"Do you think it's worth our time to work on that with her?"

"One pilot that flies intinctively is worth ten who fly by-the-book," Ghost Rider said, as he secured the lock-on and the simulated beep of a kill sounded in his ears, ending the engagement, "but I think she's worth saving."

"Maybe," Assassin said, "but there's something personal going on between those two flyers."

"Their files say they went to school together," Ghost Rider informed Assassin, "King and Queen of their class."

"I always hated those kinds of people," Assassin laughed softly, turning for home, "I could never relate to them."

"That's because you don't have any personality," Ghost Rider ribbed him.

"Says you." 


	5. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

I.

Ashley Spinelli ran her long, slender fingertips through her thick raven hair as she surveyed the scattered toys and small stuffed animals in Angelina's room, which were mixed with various bits of clothing and crayons that covered almost every square inch of the floor. As though the whole room had been turned on its side, Ashley Spinelli wondered to herself how such a small child could make such a big mess. The words "pig-pen" seemed to pop into Ashley's mind as she stiffled a giggle, when a soft knock came at the bedroom door. Flo Spinelli peeked in and grinned when she surveyed the damage that Angelina had wrought since the end of supper.

"Now you know what it felt like to clean up after you," she teased her daughter, who broke out into blush.

"Was I ever this bad, mom?" Ashley asked, waving her hand around Angelina's bedroom, a huge smile on her heavenly face.

"I think you were a bit worse, Pookey," Flo remembered as she carefully stepped over toys and clothing.

"For the record, I'm sorry," Ashley said in return as she sat down on Angelina's bed. Flo Spinelli came in and sat next to her daughter.

"Do you want to talk about it, Ashley?" Flo asked as she helped her daughter clean up the bedroom.

"About what?" Spinelli replied, as she began to fold Angelina's clean clothes and stack them neatly on the floor, to be put into her daughter's small dresser. When they managed to get that far.

"About T.J.," Flo said evenly.

"What's there to talk about?" Spinelli didn't look at her mother, but shrugged indifferently. Spinelli said nothing for a time as she continued to fold her daughter's clothes neatly and set them into their respective piles, when Flo reached across and gently put her hand on Ashley's. Spinelli stopped as her lucsious red lips formed one thin line across her face.

"You're angry at him aren't you?" Flo asked.

"I just don't know what to tell Angelina about T.J. and-"

"I'm not talking about T.J., dear," Flo told her, "I'm talking about your father."

"Dad?" Ashley blinked.

"I'm sorry, Pookey," Flo looked down, as she began to help her daughter fold clothes, "I wish that I had been stronger; I should have stood up to your father. Mr. and Mrs. Detweiler tried so hard to be a part of Angelina's life, but your father was very resentful about what happened."

"Mom," Ashley insisted, "you did everything you could. But dad wasn't mad at T.J., or you, or T.J.'s parents. He was mad at me."

Flo paused in mid-fold, as she gazed at her daughter's face which was filled with hurt and guilt, mixed together to form the mask of the brave face that Ashley Spinelli had worn for so long.

"What do you mean?"

"He was disappointed in me," Ashley replied, her eyes averted, "his little girl getting pregnant."

"Ashley," Flo stated, "your father loved you and Angelina very much; you have to believe that."

"Maybe that's why he was so disappointed," Ashley said flatly, "we used to do everything together; watch wrestling, go to the monster truck rallies. I tried so hard."

Flo Spinelli stopped Ashley from folding clothes as she turned on the bed to face her daughter.

"You tried so hard?" Flo repeated.

"Mom, we both know that dad always wanted a son that he could be proud of," Ashley said bitterly, "but after Joey started getting into trouble, dad turned to me to become the son that he always wanted. I think he wanted me to take Joey's place."

"That's not true," Flo said.

"Yes, it is," Ashley cut in, "why do you think I tried to be so tough all of the time?"

"I just thought you were a tom-boy, that's all," Flo said, "I was once a tom-boy myself, you know."

"I was a tom-boy because I wanted my father to love me," Spinelli said sadly, "he was always so stand-offish when I tried to be a girl."

"But, honey," Flo went on, "he was always so proud of you."

"But he never gave me the attention that I needed when I was a girl," Spinelli said, "so, when I got pregnant, I guess it just reminded him that I was a girl; not a boy."

"He loved Angelina so much," Flo looked down at Angelina's shirt, which was white with a big yellow duck on the front. Flo's hand smoothed out the small shirt as she struggled with her own memories.

"I know," Ashley said, "but the way he went off on T.J.-"

"He loved T.J., honey," Flo insisted, "he truly did; but your father was a proud man. I don't think that he knew how to handle you becoming pregnant."

"I can still hear him screaming in my head," Spinelli lamented, "the day I told him, he chased me all the way up the stairs. I ran into my room and locked the door-"

Flo Spinelli sat next to her daughter, stunned as Ashley continued.

"And he was there, on the other side, pounding his fists on the door...screaming at me. Swearing that he was going to kill T.J.; calling him all kinds of horrible things. I hid in my closet, begging for him to stop scaring me. Begging for him to forgive me."

Ashley rubbed her face, shaking her head trying to force the demons of her past away.

"Mr. and Mrs. Detweiler were so understanding," Ashley continued, "I'm glad they let me stay with them while you calmed dad down."

"They're such good people," Flo nodded in agreement,"helping out with medical expenses and babysitting all the time. Ellie made such a fuss over Angelina. She was so proud of her grandaughter. Everywhere we went, Ellie had a picture of Angelina in her hand, showing it to anyone who was silly enough to listen to her. They both absolutely adored Angelina. I just wish your father hadn't alienated them so much; they tried so hard to make up for what they felt was their fault. But your father, because T.J. wasn't at home, placed the blame squarely on them. Thank goodness they're such loving, forgiving people."

Ashley looked over at her mother, who was shaking her head sadly.

"Mr. Detweiler said that T.J. became very distant from them after Angelina's birthday party," Ashley revealed slowly, "he said that T.J. blamed himself for everything. Mr. Detweiler tried to talk some sense into that boy's head, but T.J. told him that he thought it was better if he didn't come around anymore; that he should just send home all the money he earned to help me with Angelina, but stay away because of dad. God, I would have given it all back to have T.J. there with me and her."

"Are you still angry at T.J. for not?" Flo asked, not finishing the question, which she had asked a thousand times before. Ashley Spinelli said no soundlessly.

"What are you going to do about it now?" Flo asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Things are different now, Ashley," Flo pointed out, "that was a long time ago; both you and T.J. have had a lot of time apart."

"I can't decide whether seeing T.J. again is a blessing or a nightmare," Spinelli cried, leaning into her mother's reassuring shoulder, "I'm so confussed."

"Do you still love him?"

"We did have a baby together," Ashley said, but her mother just shook her head.

"Sometimes," Flo said, "even having a baby isn't enough to keep two people together. You know why T.J. stayed away; and I guess I do, too. But what you have to ask yourself, Ashley, is do you love T.J. Detweiler now?"

Ashley looked up at her own mother, feeling very much the little girl at that moment. Her dark eyes burned with both fear and hope.

"Would you be mad at me if I told you...yes?"

Flo broke out into a huge grin, tears flowing down her cheeks and onto her daughter.

"No, I'd never be mad at you...or at T.J.," Flo said honestly, "you both did what you felt you had to do."

"What should I do now, Momma?" she asked as she leaned into the comfort and safety of her mother's arms. Flo Spinelli gently rocked Ashley back and forth, both mother and daughter crying softly.

"If you still love him," her mother said, "then you get him back, girl."

II.

A blazing red sky flared in the west, the last moments of daylight bleeding into the night as Lt.JG. T.J. Detweiler pulled his motorcycle to a stop in the front of billeting as he shut off the rumbling engine.

What the hell are you doing, Detweiler? he asked himself, as his stomach wrenched as he glanced with uncertainy at the two story building. Somewhere within that plain concrete structure was the life he had left behind so long ago.

He smoothed back his hair from the windy ride as he quickly checked himself in the side view mirror, then dismounted the cycle with a small but colorful bouquet of wild flowers, a small box of chocolate mints, which he knew were Ashley Spinelli's favorite, and large white stuffed toy of a rabbit. Taking a deep breath, T.J. Detweiler headed for Spinelli's front door...and the daughter he had not seen in four years.

T.J. hesitated briefly before he forced himself to knock on the front door of Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Spinelli's apartment. He could hear the cartoons comming from the television from within the apartment and the sounds of dishes clinking together; the smell of spaghetti in the evening air. A young girl's high-pitched voice called out to her mother, who said something to her in return, as T.J. heard someone approach and unlock the door.

"T.J.!" Flo Spinelli gasped, somewhat taken back by his appearance, "Hello!"

"Um, hi, Mrs. Spinelli," T.J. fumbled for the right words, looking away from her, "I-I was wondering if Ashley was home?"

"Of course, dear," Flo said as she ushered him inside, "come in. It's so good to see you again."

"Thank you, Mrs. Spinelli," T.J. said in a soft voice, "it's good to see you, too. Here; these flowers are for you."

"Oh, they're beautiful, T.J.!" Flo said, scenting the bouquet of wild flowers, "You always had such good taste in flowers."

Flo Spinelli moved into the main room with T.J., still smelling her flowers as T.J. glanced nervously about for Ashley and their daughter. The apartment was small, but well kept, with pictures on the walls of Ashley, Flo and Angelina Spinelli.

But there wasn't one picture, no not one at all, of T.J. Detweiler. T.J. felt his breath come in small labored gasps as he followed Flo Spinelli into the main room, where the TV was on, with an old Buggs Bunny cartoon on the screen.

"T.J., it's been too long," Flo sighed as she hugged him warmly, "we've really missed having you around."

T.J. simply nodded, still unable to meet Flo Spinelli's warm gaze or touch. He smiled tightly, feeling as though he would pass out.

"I'm so sorry about...your husband, Mrs. Spinelli," he told her, "I wanted to attend the funeral...but I thought that-"

T.J.'s voice was choked with emotion as he looked down, unable to continue as he fought off the feeling of shame.

"Thank you, T.J.," she said softly, kissing him sweetly on his freckled cheek. T.J.'s eyes filled with tears as he tried to look away from Flo, at anything at all in the room to avoid her level gaze.

"T.J.," Flo said kindly, "I understand and I know that things between you and Ashley aren't very...well, warm right now. But I want you to know that you will always be welcome here."

"I never-um," T.J. began, faultered, then pressed on, "I wanted to...apologise to you, Mrs. Spinelli, for when-for being so irresponsible when I-."

"That is all in the past, T.J.," Flo reminded him as she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. T.J. looked back at her, his face a twisted expression of pain, grief and shame. Flo Spinelli reached out and lightly touched the side of T.J.'s face, rubbing her thumb along his cheek gently. She could more than just see his pain; she could feel it. T.J. felt the compassion from Flo Spinelli as she smiled sweetly.

"Thank you, T.J.," she said, "that means a great deal to me."

"Mom?" a sultry voice called out from the hallway, "Is someone at the-door?"

Ashley Spinelli stopped in mid-stride as her dark eyes fell upon T.J. Detweiler. T.J. smiled back at her uncomfortably as Ashley moved slower into the main room, followed by a little shadow just behind her. T.J. Detweiler froze as the breath left his body; out from behind Ashley's leg, peeked the face of a little girl.

His little girl...

Angelina Antionette Spinelli was a mirror image of her mother at Angelina's age, except for the thick, black curls which danced about her plump, freckled cheeks. Angelina smiled shyly at the tall, handsome stranger, giggling softly to herself, as she looked up at her mother, who put her hand around Angelina's small shoulder. Ashley smiled reassuringly at the young girl, bemused by the thought that Angelina found T.J. Detweiler irresistably handsome as she always had.

"Momma?" Angelina asked, in a high, squeeky voice, "Who's that man?"

Ashley looked at T.J., then down at her daughter. Ashley ran her slender fingers through the young girl's black locks.

"He's...a friend, baby," Ashley said quietly, smiling softly back at T.J., "an old friend."

"Hi, there," T.J. said as he waved at Angelina, who ducked behind her mother and peeked out at him. Angelina's large, dark eyes blinked as she clung tightly to her mother's waist.

"Hello," she answered shyly, chewing on her forefinger.

"My name's T.J.," he smiled, kneeling down to Angelina's level, "What's yours?"

Angelina glanced up at her mother once more, and received a calming smile from Ashley.

"Angie," she answered the handsome stranger.

"That's a very pretty name, Angie," T.J. said honestly, "I've always liked that name myself. Um, on my way over here, I found this big, white rabbit. He seemed lonely, so I was wondering if you would like to take care of him. That is, if it's okay with your mom."

Angelina's eyes went wide as T.J. held out the stuffed toy to her. Angelina started for the stuffed rabbit, then stopped as she looked up at her mother.

"It's okay, baby," Ashley cooed softly, "T.J. is a friend of mine."

"Thank you, Mr. T.J.!" Angelina squeeled, as she held the rabbit tightly, its large white ears flopping about as she rubbed her freckled cheeks on its fuzzy cheek.

"He's soooo pwretty!" she sang out, holding the rabbit as she gazed with admiration at the handsome stranger, "What's his name?"

"Um...Floppy," T.J. fumbled, "because of his big, floppy ears. See?"

T.J. took hold of one ear and brushed Angelina's face with it, which caused the little girl to giggle. Ashley smiled, albeit painfully, as she looked over at her own mother, who leaned against the wall, her arms holding onto her sides as she chewed on her lower lip.

"Baby," Ashley kneeled down, scooping up Angelina in her arms, "why don't you and Grammy go and watch some cartoons? T.J. and I need to talk for a while. Okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, her cascading locks of ebony bouncing behind her as she ran to Flo Spinelli and took her hand.

"Bye, Mr. T.J.," she waved, "and thank you for Floppy! I'll be a very good mommy to him, I promise!"

"Sure, sweetheart," T.J. whispered as he waved softly in return. Angelina pulled her Grammy over to the television and hopped up on the couch, snuggling with Flo, Floppy tucked neatly in her lap.

"She's beautiful, Spin," T.J. gasped, stunned by the little girl, "she looks just like you, too."

"I wish I were that cute when I was her age," Ashley commented, looking her shoulder over at her daughter with pride, "I would have killed for hair like hers."

Ashley turned back to T.J., who stood in front of her.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asked, her tone suddenly went icy, her smile almost gone.

"I was hoping that we could talk," he said, his eyes still on his estranged daughter.

"About what?" Ashley asked defensively as stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her faded blue jeans.

"About her," T.J. jestured over to Angelina, who was giggling while she and Flo were watching cartoons. Ashley frowned slightly. She looked back at T.J..

"Angelina?"

"Yeah," T.J. said, "I wanted to-"

"Save it, Teej," Ashley waved him off, "I don't want to hear any more of your excuses."

"That's good," he replied evenly, taking Spinelli gently by the arm, "because I'm not here to give you any excuses."

Ashley looked at him uncertainly, then called back to her mother.

"Mom," she said, grabbing a jacket, "T.J. and I are going out for a little while; I'll be back soon."

"Alright, Pookey," Flo waved from the couch, "take your time."

"Bye, Momma!" Angelina called out.

Ashley waved at the little girl as she slipped on a denim jacket over a tight fitting tshirt, which had the NAS Fullon TOP GUN logo on it. She grabbed a small purse and slung it over one shoulder, then jestured to T.J..

"There's an ice cream shop not far from here," she said, "I don't want to have this conversation in front of my daughter."

T.J. said nothing in return, though he felt the bottled up hostility eminating from Ashley Spinelli like boiling lava. He opened the door for her and walked her down the sidewalk to his motorcycle. A brief grin appeared on Ashley's face as she appraised the cycle, running one hand along the seat.

"Nice Hogg, Teej," she commented.

"You don't mind going to the ice cream shop on the back of a Hogg, do you?"

"Not at all," Ashley shrugged, trying to sound indifferent as both she and T.J. climbed on. T.J. lifted the bike up, while Ashley slipped her arms around T.J.'s waist snuggly. Ashley felt T.J.'s strong, well-muscled back flex and move as he kick started the Hogg, gunning the engine. Ashley laid her head on T.J.'s back and smiled to herself as she felt the Hogg roar to life.

"Now, hold on tight," he said grinning, glancing over his shoulder, "You do remember how to hold on tight, don't you?"

"I remember," she smiled.

II.

Ashley leaned on the small, sticky counter, next to T.J. while he ordered a hot fudge sundae for Spinelli and a thick chocolate shake for himself. He handed Ashley her treat, which she accepted with a grin, as the two of them slowly walked away, looking shyly at one another. Ashley Spinelli jestured towards a wooden table in front of the ice cream parlor, which was shaped like a large ice cream cone.

Two small children ran from the front counter to their table, babbling excitedly, as their parents brought over their ice cream. Spinelli watched with mildly envious eyes as the little boy and his young sister eagerly began to devour the tasty treats, getting more ice cream on their small, round faces than they ate.

T.J. set some napkins down in front of her, between them. T.J. sipped on a chocolate shake, his eyes never leaving hers. Spinelli sampled her sundae, then rolled her eyes back and closed them, licking the thick fudge from her lucious red lips...one at a time. T.J. forced himself to look away; he had no right to look at her that way.

Not anymore...

"Mmmm," Spinelli moaned as she savored the thick chocolate fudge, "this is wonderful, Teej! Here, try some."

She took a generous portion and offered it to T.J., who smiled slyly as he sampled Spinelli's sundae. Spinelli laughed softly as she wiped some of the fudge from the corner of his mouth with the tip of her spoon. She playfully tapped the spoon on the tip of his nose as he smacked loudly.

"Man, that is good," T.J. agreed, "it reminds me of Mr. Kelso's place back home."

"Mr. Kelso always did make the best hot fudge sundaes," Spinelli recalled, tilting her head to one side as she thought back to all of the hot fudge sundaes she and T.J. had shared as children.

She looked back at T.J. and giggled as she took a napkin to wipe a small drip of fudge that T.J. had somehow missed. She gently wiped the corner of his mouth as T.J. stared into those incredibly dark, fathomless eyes, their black fire burning into his soul. T.J. instinctively reached up and touched Spinelli's fingers, stroking them. Spinelli's smile suddenly turned to veiled fear as she looked away from him and hurriedly withdrew her hand.

"Please don't," Spinelli said quietly.

"Sorry," T.J. said just as quietly, "old habits. I'll behave."

"Why are we here, Teej?" she asked, her lips finished the sentence but were still slightly open.

"I wanted-I needed-to talk to you." T.J. confessed painfully.

"If this is about Angelina," Spinelli began, "I know she's your daughter, too. But I don't want her to know about you being her father. Not yet."

"Why?" T.J. asked, confused.

"Because you haven't been a part of her life, T.J.," Spinelli said evenly as she set down her spoon, "and having you show up suddenly could have a very negitive effect on her. You don't want that, do you?"

Despite her feelings for the boy, Ashley realised, she was still resentful at being forced to raise Angelina on her own. She toyed with the sundae in front of her, as T.J. set down his drink, glancing sideways at the setting sun. He didn't answer her for a moment, as his mind and heart waged war on each other for the right to what he would say next.

"No, I wouldn't want that," he said back to her. Spinelli watched him carefully.

"Maybe we could let Angelina get to know you," Spinelli offered, backpeddling somewhat, "you could at least have some quality time with her."

"But in the end," T.J. said flatly, looking back at her, "you don't want her to know who I really am."

"What do you think would happen to her when we're finished here in six weeks?" Spinelli asked as she jestured around her with her hand, "I'll go back to the carrier and you'll return to North Field. What do I tell Angelina then? I need-she needs-a man in her life."

"Maybe I can get a transfer to the ABRAHAM LINCOLN," T.J. offered, "I do have some pull with my C.O. back home. If I explain the situation to him-"

"What if you can't get a transfer?" she shot back in a hushed tone, "I'm not willing to put Angelina in a position where she finds her father only to lose him again. She's just a child, T.J.; she would never understand."

"Are you talking about Angelina now, Spin, or are you talking about yourself?"

Ashley Spinelli started to say something then paused.

"Maybe both. I guess." she admitted.

"Angelina has the right to know I'm her father, Ashley," he insisted softly, "With you, your mom and me working together, we can help her-"

"No, Teej," Spinelli answered, shaking her head, "I'm sorry; but this isn't a good time. I can't allow it."

"You can't?" T.J. raised his brows in hurt and confussion.

"That's right," Spinelli said sharply, "I can't-because I'm the one who's raised our daughter alone for the past four years. I'm going to be the one who has to deal with the fallout from all of this after you're long gone, too. I'm her mother and I decide what's best for Angelina-not you."

"So we're supposed to pretend that she doesn't have a father?" T.J. bit.

"You can't just waltz back into our lives after four years," Spinelli said, stabbing her spoon at her sundae, "and expect to pick up where you left off."

"I never thought I could, Spin," T.J. said in a hushed tone, attempting to alleviate some of the growing resentment between them, "maybe your dad was right about me. Maybe I am just a bum."

The image of her father pounding on her bedroom door, screaming obsenities at her as she hid fearfully in her closet filled Spinelli's head. The long, lonely days and nights she spent alone in her room, while Angelina grew inside of her came rushing back to Spinelli. The fear of raising Angelina alone... the endless nights of crying, wishing that T.J. could be there with to help her through all of it. And how it all came unravelled the day T.J. came home to see her and their baby...and how all of their plans had fallen apart.

But, more to the point, Ashley Spinelli realised...she was sounding just like her father once did. That no matter what T.J. said, did or offered, it was never enough to warrant his forgiveness. Now, Ashley Spinelli was being just like her father had once been.

So, she asked herself, are you going to forgive him? Or are you gonna be your daddy's little girl? So what if you love him more than life itself? He deserves to be hurt just as much as your daddy hurt you...it's only fair.

No, Ashley Spinelli bit back just as hard at herself, I'm not going to be like my father!

If Spinelli's reaction took T.J. completely by surpise, then it absolutely stunned her. She reached across and took his hand firmly in hers, her eyes filled with hurt and anger. But somewhere in all of that darkness, Ashley Spinelli still found a little room for pride.

"Don't you ever talk that way about my baby's father again," she said with a very small but warm smile. T.J. squeezed her hand in his own as he felt the guilt of four long years of loneliness well up within him. His tears fell freely as he looked down.

"T.J.," Spinelli pressed, "look at me."

T.J. tried to turn his face away from her, but Ashley Spinelli would not accept that; she stood and moved around to sit beside him, slipping her arm around his shoulders. He looked up at her, as difficult as it was, to meet the gaze of Ashley Spinelli's dark, smoldering eyes.

"I need to know one thing," she said.

"W-what?" he asked, shaking in her arms.

"I need to know you're going to be Angelina's father," Ashley said, "I need to know that you're going to be a part of your daughter's life when this is all over."

"God knows I don't deserve her, Spin," T.J. shook his head slowly, his brown hair falling about his eyes, "I don't deserve either of you. But I will...I swear."

"Then why didn't you come to see us after my dad died?" Spinelli asked gently.

"I...thought you hated me," he looked back at her, their faces only inches apart. "I'm the reason your dad was so angry. I betrayed his trust in me...and hurt his little girl. I was too much of a coward to face him and accept what I had comming to me. I was too much of a coward to be the man I should have been to you and Angelina...so, I ran away. After he died, I couldn't bring myself to face you. I just didn't feel worthy of your love anymore."

T.J. burried his face in his folded arms as Ashley Spinelli looked at her boy and the pain and guilt he had lived with for so long. She laid her head on his, her tears falling into his hair, as she held him closer than she ever had before. One thing was certain, Spinelli concluded; T.J. had suffered just as much as she ever had. It was time to let it all go...

"I wouldn't trade that evening with you at the lake for anything in the whole wide world. That night you gave me the greatest gift you ever gave me in my entire life."

When T.J. didn't respond, Spinelli reached across to his chin and lifted his face to meet her steady gaze.

"Our baby." she added.

"How can you even look at me after?" T.J. asked incredulously.

"Because, T.J.," Ashley Spinelli said, "I love you. I have always loved you. I always will love you. That's how..."

He said nothing, but reached for the side of her face and kissed her so deeply that T.J. could feel the breath leave Ashley Spinelli's body...and breath life into his once more.

"Have I told you lately that I love you, Spin?" he said when their lips parted.

"Talk is cheep, boy of mine," she purred, "I want action...not words." 


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I.

'It is now day nine. You are nearly one third the way through the TOP GUN course. There has been a forty two percent drop out in this class. And make no mistakes; before we reach the two-thirds marker, that number will double.

Your next flight will involve working together in teams of two to escort a damaged C5A Starlifter class cargo plane, while being engaged by multiple enemy targets. You must ensure that the C5A lands safely at Naval Air Station Fullon.

At the one-third marker, Russo and Spinelli are both tied for first place, with Barton and Vermachelli both locked in for second, behind the first place runners by only one point. This is when to expect the unexpected...'

- Ghost Rider

The morning sky was cold and clear; not even so much as a cloud was present anywhere that Lt. Cmdr. Spinelli could see as she leaned down, one hand on the leading edge of an AIM92 missle, while she checked the connections closely. Spinelli could almost see her own breath in the morning air, grateful for the fact that her nearly skin-tight flight suit was well insulated.The warmth it provided her was well worth the leers and whistles she patiently endured in the pre-flight briefing room. Ashley Spinelli walked around the permimeter of her F-15-A-D, checking each wing surface, flap area and weapon connection for the proper tags, while T.J. Detweiler did the same for the opposite side of the plane. When each was done, they switched and checked the other's area.

Detweiler's mop of brown hair popped up over the port wing of the F-15-A-D while he leaned on the AIM92 missle casually. His bright blue eyes watched with intense intrest as Spinelli leaned over to check the grounding wires that held the F-15-A-D securely in place on the tarmac. Unable to resist any longer, T.J. let out a whistle at Spinelli, while he viewed her posterior in the wonderfully form fitting flightsuit she wore. Spinelli almost let out a giggle as she looked back over her shoulder at the insubordinate Lt.JG..

"Are you trying to get my attention, Leiutenant?" she asked slyly, her eyes sparkling in the early morning sun like black diamonds. Spinelli's long, ebony hair danced about her shoulders and back in the light breeze.

"Just admiring the...view, Commander," he said with a smirk on his freckled face. Spinelli stood slowly, almost seductively, leaning her weight on one hip, while she looked at her navigator with raised eyebrows.

"The view is much better from the cockpit, Leiutenant," she jestured, "it's time to raise ship."

Lt.JG. Detweiler saluted his superior officer with a flip of his hand and a huge grin.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, as Spinelli tried in vain to hide her own smile as she, in turn, watched her navigator climb into his position just behind her's. Spinelli admired the view that she had as T.J. climbed into the cockpit, throwing a glance back over his shoulder at his pilot to make certain that she had enjoyed her own view. Spinelli winked at him as she donned her helmet, her polorized visor thrown back, as she climbed in the F-15-A-D in front of him and seated herself comfortably in place. Two technicians came up the ladders behind the crew of the F-15-A-D and began to strap them in.

"Good luck, ma'am," one technician said to Spinelli, as she fired the ignition sequence. Spinelli gave him a thumb's up as the technician gently patted Spinelli's helmet to let her know that he had finished his duties and all was ready for take-off, since the twin F-414 engines drowned out any further possiblity of verbal communication. From here on out, all communication with the ground crew was done via hand signals only. Spinelli tapped her mike as the F-15-A-D was jolted forward. The little plane tug slowly pulled Spinelli's F-15-A-D out towards the taxi lane, while Spinelli began her pre-flight checks with her navigator.

"Ready for some fun, boy of mine?" she asked, as Spinelli sealed the canopy with a throw of a lever. The cockpit pressurized quickly as Spinelli's ears popped from the sudden pressure.

"Be gentle with me," T.J. pleaded with a smile, "it's my first time."

"Then you don't mind a woman on top of things?" Spinelli asked.

"I do some of my best work with a woman on top," T.J. teased back. Spinelli sensed the unspoken challenge to see who would blush first.

"I remember," Spinelli answered, as she glanced up at the rear view mirror at T.J.'s stunned, red face.

Round One-Spinelli.

"Able-One, this is Fullon Tower," the disembodied voice came over Spinelli's and Detweiler's headsets, "you are free and clear for takeoff. Weather conditions clear; temperature is a balmy 56 degrees Farenheit, winds are from the south at 12 miles per hour."

"Roger, Fullon Tower," Spinelli said officiously as the small tug detached itself from the F-15-A-D and sped off, as Spinelli saluted him, "Able-One ready for takeoff."

"Hold on to your seat, Teej," Spinelli grinned, as she maneuvered the F-15-A-D in line with the runway, "I'm gonna see what this girl can do."

"You can take me up anytime, Spin," he shot back. Spinelli's face flushed a brilliant red.

Round two-Detweiler.

"I remember that, too," she quipped as Spinelli slammed the throttle forward. The twin F-414 engines roared to life as Spinelli immediately kicked in the afterburnners. Spinelli and T.J. were both thrown back in their acceleration couches as the F-15-A-D Super Hornet screamed down the runway at full bore, a huge blue trail of fire belching from the rear of the plane, as Spinelli spiked the plane's nose up. The F-15-A-D shot skyward as Spinelli grinned at the power under her control.

"Whoooo-whheeee!" T.J. cried out as the earth suddenly dropped away, "Go, Spin, go!"

Spinelli laughed as she watched the buildings of NAS Fullon virtually disappear in seconds. T.J. raised the landing gear as Spinelli banked the F-15-A-D a hard right, now heading due north.

"Landing gear secured," T.J. reported, "fuel status is ten thousand four hundred pounds; heading is zero zero two at five hundred seventy five. We've got a tailwind from the south at twenty miles per hour. All systems online. Weapons systems are nominal."

"Roger," Spinelli replied, impressed at how quickly T.J. turned from a little boy on a thrill ride into a navigator.

"I've got three spikes on radar at three hundred degrees; ten miles and closing," Detweiler reported, "battle computer confirms identity."

"This is Able-One to Able Team, report." Spinelli said.

"Able-Two, standing by," Johnny Vermachelli reported.

"Able-Three, standin' by," Billy Barton answered.

"Able-Four, standing by," Kurt Russo said.

"Okay, Able Team," Spinelli said as she spotted them just ahead of her F-15-A-D, "form up on me. Jackass, you're with me; Reaper, you're BabyTooth's wingman."

"Shouldn't Babytooth be my wingman, Commander?" Reaper asked. Spinelli frowned.

"Negitive, Reaper," Spinelli replied icily, "this time out, you cover for Babytooth."

"Pay attention, Reaper," Detweiler sneered, "you just might learn something!"

"At ease, Leuitenant," Spinelli said to Detweiler.

"Sorry, ma'am," Detweiler responded, as he shot a bird at Reaper's F-14 Tomcat. Reaper replied in kind.

Reaper and Jackass slid sideways, making room for Spinelli to take the lead as Spinelli easied to the head of the group. With a quick glance over each shoulder, Spinelli silently confirmed that everyone was in position.

"Able Team, this is Cargo-One," the pilot of the C5A Starlifter called out. Spinelli slid her visor down as Detweiler opened the communications link.

"This is Able Team, Able-One reporting, Captain," Lt.Cmdr. Spinelli reported, "how may we be of assistance?"

"Roger, Able-One," came the reply, "be advised that I'm down one engine and am being pursued by at least five MIGs. Requesting assistance, over."

Five? Detweiler gasped silently. He began furiously adjusting the settings on the F-15-A-D's long range radar as Spinelli replied.

"Roger that, Cargo-One," Spinelli said, "we'll walk you in. Reaper, Babytooth?"

"Go," they both said.

"Fly close support, while Jackass and I check this out."

"You got it, Boss!" Jackass replied.

"Roger," Reaper snapped irritatedly.

"Cargo-One, this is Able-One," Spinelli called back.

"Go, Able-One," came the reply.

"I'm leaving two of my team here with you, while I check out this threat, copy?"

"Understood, Able-One."

"Any ID on those MIGs?" Spinelli asked.

"Mostly MIG 29s, but there were two SU-37's. Be careful, Able-One," the C5A Starlifter pilot advised.

"Roger, Cargo-One," Spinelli gulped, as she adjusted the F-15-A-D's trim. Spinelli pulled ahead of the group, with Jackass right on her heels.

"You okay, Boss?" Detweiler called forward.

"Yeah, sure," Spinelli replied, trying to hide her tension.

"I've got three MIG 29s at twenty two degrees, at five thousand feet. Speed is mach plus fifty," T.J. reported.

"Those assholes don't waste any time, do they?" Spinelli growled.

"Spin, are you sure you're okay?" T.J. called forward again.

"Yes!" Spinelli shot back, "Now shut up! I've got to consentrate."

"Eightball, this is Jackass, over," Jackass reported in.

"Go, Jackass," Spinelli replied.

"I've got the additional targets at two fourty five at mach plus one hundred, over."

"Looks like they want to go for the pinch," Spinelli gritted her teeth defiantly, "Teej; bring our weapons online."

"Weapons online."

"Jackass, stay with me," Spinelli called out, "those SU-37s are the strike force. Those MIG29s are just a distraction."

"You sure about that, Boss?" Jackass called back.

"Trust me," Spinelli said, "now keep up with me and do what I do."

"Roger Dodger, Eightball," Jackass said.

"SU-37's now accelerating to mach plus two hundred," T.J. reported quickly, "looks like they're getting ready to engage Cargo-One."

"Good eyes, Teej," Spinelli shot back, "now, just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Intruder-One to Intruder-Three, over?" Ghost Rider boomed into his headset. Ghost Rider's massive frame effortlessly controlled his SU-37 as he and his wingman, a female Russian pilot by the name of Jezabelle, closed in on Cargo-One.

"Intruder-Three, go, Intruder-One," Assassin called back from his MIG 29.

"Split your group into two teams and lure Spinelli's high guard away from Cargo-One," he said as he activated his mock weapons systems, "I'll take on Spinelli and Barton, then swing right to finish off Cargo-One. Be ready; I'm contacting Ground Control for our little surprise."

"Roger, Intruder-One," Assassin replied, "Intruder-Four, Intruder-Five; scissor left and engage the high guard protecting Cargo-One. I'll cover you."

"Roger, Intruder-Three," they replied, as both suddenly peeled off.

"Looks like you called it, Spin," Detweiler said, "I've got two MIG 29s veering off, trying to engage Babytooth and Reaper."

"I thought as much," Spinelli growled, "I'm switching to the guns. Gimme full power."

"At your command," Detweiler said, as he adjusted the fuel mix of the F-15-A-D. Spinelli glanced at the fuel mix and frowned.

"I need a hotter mix, Teej," she spat impatiently, "get it together."

"Increasing mix to six to one," he said quickly, "that's about the best I can do."

"Better," Spinelli nodded at the fuel mix readout, "now you'll see why I wanted it my way."

"DANGER! MISSLE LAUNCH! DANGER! MISSLE LAUNCH!"

The words screamed like a siren in Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Spinelli's helmet as she fought desperately against the controls of her F-15-A-D Super Hornet as she executed a steep right turn. Spinelli feathered back on the flaps which brought the nose of the aircraft around to face southwest, as her dark eyes bugged at the white smoke trails comming up from the Nevada desert, intent on destroying her tiny, fragile craft. The only thing that stood between Spinelli's F-15-A-D and simulated destruction was Lt. JG. T.J. Detweiler.

"Teej!" Spinelli cried out as two missles off to their right swung around and began to converge on their position, "Give me a tactical!"

Before Spinelli could even finish her order, the HUD display shimmered to life, which showed Spinelli over a dozen missles homming in on the F-15-A-D.

"Now, this isn't fair," Spinelli mumbled to herself, as she seized the throttle control with her left hand and slammed it forward, while at the same instant, releasing the air brake controllers. The F-15-A-D suddenly lurched forward as Spinelli applied more power.

"Umm...Boss?" Detweiler asked nervously, "What are you doing?"

"We can't outrun these things, baby," Spinelli replied, glancing in her rear view mirror at her copilot, "but we can out manuver them!"

"You can out manuver a dozen SAM missles!"

"Trust me," Spinelli said condiently, "Get ready to dump the flares; let's see if we can't stir them up a little."

"Flares ready," Detweiler answered, convinced Spinelli had lost her mind, "chaff standing by."

Detweiler glanced out the right side of the canopy, gazing at the half dozen or so trails of white smoke. Each one of those trails indicated the presence of a Surface to Air Missle, or SAM. He gulped.

Like a converging swarm of angry bees, the SAMs shot skyward almost too fast for Detweiler to follow, but a quick check of the tactical display showed that none were in range...yet.

"Impact in nine seconds!" T.J. called to Spinelli, "looks like they got us this time, Spin."

Spinelli tsked as she flipped the switch which controlled the flares. From behind the F-15-A-D, T.J. could see the flares being tossed out from just beneath the plane. Four SAM missles turned and homed in on the heat signiture as he heard a beep from within his helmet.

"That's four down!" he said, elated.

"You should have a little more faith, boy of mine," Spinelli admonished him gently, "we're just getting started."

Spinelli arched the F-15-A-D sharply left, not easing back on the throttle, as the plane shook violently from the massive g-forces which pressed Spinelli and Detweiler hard into their harnesses. The air bladders in their flight suits protected them from loosing conciousness during those critical seconds. T.J. felt his suit bladders fill with air faster than the airbags of a passenger car, while he desperately fought to keep down his breakfast. His teeth vibrated as he struggled to breathe; it felt as though an elephant were sitting on his chest at that moment.

The next second, the pressure was gone. T.J. looked around dumbly to see that Spinelli had flown right through the cluster of incomming SAMs, which now flew off in every which direction, their primitive computers confused by the flares, the nearly sonic passing of the F-15-A-D and each other.

"Son of a!" Detweiler exclaimed in a whisper as the remaining SAM missles fell away from each other. Several moments later, Detweiler could see each of them slam into the Nevada Desert far below.

"Spin, that was amazing!" T.J. cried for joy, "I don't think anyone's ever done that before!"

"It's no big deal," Spinelli grinned from beneath her oxygen mask, "walk in the park."

"Our target's dead ahead, range four nautical," T.J. reported.

"Got it," Spinelli confirmed, "I'm turning over the battle computer to you, copy?"

"Anytime, baby!"

Spinelli flipped a tiny switch with a gloved hand, as the panel in front of Lt. JG. T.J. Detweiler sprung to life. The gradated scale which ran both down the left side and across the bottom of his field of vision glowed a brillant, neon green. A small circle danced erattically somewhere withing the marked are, while T.J. took the firing controller with his right hand.

Spinelli quickly judge the distance between themselves and their target. This would be a fly-by-wire type of attack; no fire and forget here. T.J. would have to guide the missle all the way to its target manually. Spinelli may have been an exceptional pilot, but her gunnery skills were only just above average. After all, gunnery was her copilot's domain, and from what Spinelli had learned, both T.J. Detweiler and Tonya 'Peaches' Peterson were considered to be the top two gunners in the United States Navy. Spinelli took over watch as she instinctively guided the F-15-A-D closer to its target. Her dark, smoldering eyes watched the translucent screens in front of her for any signs of new threats.

"Okay, baby boy," Spinelli cooed softly, "it's your ballgame now."

"Wave by-by to two SU-37s," Detweiler gritted as he fired both AIM92 missles simultaneously, one bound for each target. Spinelli's mouth dropped open as her battle computer confirmed one SU-37 was shot down.

"Holy!" she gasped, as her battle computer confirmed a kill - but Ghost Rider dodged the AIM92, kicking his his afterburners.

"Am I good, or am I good?" T.J. sang out.

"You get a gold star for that shot, Prankster Prince!"

Johnny Vermachelli checked his radar as Lt. Gus Griswold locked on to two incomming MIG 29s.

"Able-Three, fire Fox-one! Fire Fox-two!" Gus called out verbally as both AIM92s lanced out and homed in on their targets. One missle made contact with its targt, while the other swung wide to the right.

"One hit, one miss!" Gus gripped, "Looks like he's going for the kill, Johhny!"

"I'm all over him!"

Johhny V. set his F-14 Tomcat into a power dive at the remaining MIG 29, who suddenly veered off, trying to disengage as the F-14 bore down on him.

"Bend over, spread those cheeks and kiss your ass goodbye!" as Johnny V. targeted the fleeing MIG 29. A soft beep was heard in his helmet as Johnny V. veered off, elated that his battle computer registered a kill.

"Who's your daddy!" Johnny V. grinned.

"Okay, Assassin," Ghost Rider said, "time for Phase Two."

"You're one cold son of a bitch, you know that?" Assassin grinned.

"I know," Ghost Rider replied.

"Uh, Spin?" Detweiler called out, suddenly alarmed.

"What is it, baby?"

"I've got multiple incoming targets...I count twelve," he said.

"Missles!"

"Nope," T.J. said grimmly, "MIGs."

Spinelli's stomach dropped straight out of the plane as she saw the multiple dots suddenly appear on the battle screens.

"Looks like this party's not over yet!" Spinelli grinned, "Okay, Able flight, listen up! Jackass, stay with me; Babytooth, Reaper, swing right and engage our guests with the guns! Stay within thirty five hundred of Cargo-One!"

"That's gonna be tight, Boss!" Johnny V. reminded her.

"Tight for them, too!" Spinelli shot back as Jackass formed up next to Spinelli's F-15-A-D, while Spinelli slammed her engines forward. A huge trail of blue flame erupted behind the Super Hornet as Eightball and Jackass took on their unwelcome company head on.

"Whoooo-doggie!" Jackass hollered as he and Spinelli rocketed past two MIG 29s at less than one hundred feet, "Looks like a stampede, Boss!"

"Stay with me, Jackass!" Spinelli spat, "Watch your nine! I've got two MIGs veering off at mach plus one hundred fifty; looks like they want to get some range to get a missle lock-on!"

Spinelli's F-15-A-D was suddenly surrounded by MIGs; everywhere Detweiler looked, he saw enemy planes. Spinelli began to flip and roll in tight circles, desperately trying to throw them off, as Jackass came down from above and engaged two MIGs at close quarters with his guns. Johnny V. and Reaper joined they frey seconds later. With more than a dozen planes dodging, veering off, turning and twisting in the sky all about the cargo plane, the pilot of the C5A Starlifter gasped silently as he witnessed the titantic mock battle raging on.

"Roll right! Roll right!" Spinelli screamed into her headset at Jackass as two MIGs danced about each plane, "I've got the two on the left!"

"An' I got the other two, dahlin'!" Jackass sang back as he targeted and fired his mock guns. His battle computer registered two more kills.

"Whoo-doggie!" he said, "Looks like the whole friggin' Russian Air Force!"

T.J. continued to kick out flares behind their F-15-A-D as Spinelli tumbled the plane downward, firing wildly as her two MIGs scrambled to get away from her.

"Oh, no you don't!" Spinelli growled, her blood boiling, "you're not leaving so soon, are you! The party's just getting fun!"

Spinelli sent her own plane into a spiralling drive after the two MIGs, who split off and accelerated away from her at top speed. Jackass joined Spinelli in the steep dive, whooping and hollering all the way down.

"Go left, Jackass!" Spinelli called out, "I got the boy on the right!"

"I'm covering you, Eightball!" Johnny V. called out. Spinelli smiled.

"Thanks, sweetheart!"

T.J. glanced up briefly from his panel at Spinelli before returning to his instrumentation.

"We're down to three hundred twenty rounds, Commander," Detweiler snipped, "no missles."

Spinelli felt a slight twinge in her stomach as her ears perked up at T.J.'s tone of voice.

"Disengage!" Ghost Rider called out, "I repeat, this is Intruder-One...disengage!"

On queue, all the fighter craft suddenly leveled off and flew side by side. Spinelli checked her communications console and grinned to herself as she saw that the C5A Starlifter had made its landing.

"All wings return to base," Ghost Rider commanded, "and good flying, everyone!"

II.

Ashley Spinelli brushed her long, black hair furiously with her hairbrush, then threw her head back, as her lucious ebony hair fell about her shoulders. She popped her lips together once more, insuring that her lipstick was applied evenly, as she grabbed her earing and attached one large hoop earing to her left ear. She looked down for the other one one the bathroom counter, but frowned when she couldn't seem to find it.

"Mom!" Spinelli called, out, "Have you seen my other gold hoop earring?"

"No dear," Flo said, comming around the corner. She stopped dead as she looked at her daughter.

"Ashley!" she gasped, "You look heavenly!"

Spinelli wore a red silk spagetti string dress which came to just mid thigh on her. Her hair, glistening and dark as midnight, shone with a new gleem that Spinelli had done at the base hair dresser's only that afternoon. Her deeply tan skin was now a golden bronze, highlighted with a slim gold herring bone necklace which wrapped itself snuggly about Spinelli's throat.

"I take it that you're going out tonight?" Flo grinned.

"Definately," Spinelli said, as she made her way to her bedroom, with Flo following close behind.

"What's the occassion?"

"I screwed up this morning with Teej," Spinelli said, as she rifled through her jewelry box and found her other earring.

"What happened, dear?" Flo asked.

"While we were in flight, I accidently called Johnny a 'sweetheart'," Spinelli said, "and Teej didn't take it too well. He didn't say so, but I could tell he was hurt."

"Have you told T.J. about you and Johnny V. yet, dear?" Flo chewed nervously.

"No," Spinelli replied, "I was going to...eventually. I mean, Johnny and I are just friends, now; nothing more. I love T.J.."

"Do you think he knows that you and Johnny V. were engaged at one time?"

"No, I don't think so," Spinelli said, "and I asked Johnny not to say anything about it."

"Are you sure he won't?" Flo asked.

"Johnny's a good man, Mom," Spinelli smiled back, "and I know that I can trust him not to say anything to T.J about us until I get the chance to tell T.J. that I love him."

"But T.J. doesn't know that, dear," Flo said worriedly.

"Soon...he will." 


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

I.

The evening sky boiled a blood red, burnt cinnamon and golden hues of orange and pink. A lone dusky swirl of wind danced between two low buildings, driven by the fading heat of the day and the cooler evening air as the sounds of distant thunder rumbled on the horizon. Tiny raindrops began to fall across the parched landscape as the raindrops became a downpour and within minutes, the sunset washed away in a flash flood that fell from the darkened skies.

Thunderous clouds shook Ashley Spinelli as she darted beneath the red canopy of NAS Fullon Officer's Club, brushing off the sprinkling of raindrops that had beaded on her incredibly tan, smooth skin. The base taxi, which had brought Spinelli to the club, accepted a waiting passenger and slowly pulled away in the downpour, while Spinelli fetched her compact mirror from her small purse and checked her reflection one more time. The steady, dull pounding of music and the sounds of glasses clinking together mixed with various smells of food and drink filled Lt. Cmdr. Ashley Spinelli's senses, but did nothing to quell the feeling deep within her.

She ran a quick comb through her long black hair, pretending not to notice the stares she got from the various fighter jockeys that had positioned themselves just outside the main entrance to the club. Like a tender young lamb that had found herself in the midst of a pack of hungry wolves, Spinelli sidestepped several attempts to engage her in conversation as she gave an apologetic smile at all of the unfortunate fliers that simply stared at her figure, hidden just beneath shimmering red silk. The unintended effect of the raindrops on Spinelli's golden skin gave her a primal allure that few men could resist.

"So, there we were," Johnny Vermachelli continued, as Gus and Gretchen Griswold, Billy Barton, Tonya Peterson and T.J. Detweiler listened, "surrounded on all sides by our instructors, when Spinelli decides she's going to do a full mach-tuck; she slams her plane forward and overtakes the lead instructor, finishing him off before he even knows that Spinelli flamed him!"

The small group at the table laughed lightly as Gretchen sipped on her mineral water.

"I understand that Spinelli finished at the top of her class at Pensacola," she said lightly, "and was assigned to the ABRAHAM LINCOLN her very first time out. But I've always been curious as to how she acquired the nickname of Eightball."

"Actually," Johnny V. conceded with a chuckle, "Spinelli's nickname has nothing to do with her flying."

Gretchen looked over curiously at Gus, who watched Johnny V. intently. It was something of a rarity that one learned something about Spinelli so personal.

"When we were in flight school," Johnny V. remembered, "Spinelli was something of a pool shark."

Johnny V. paused as he took a sip of his whiskey while T.J. sat next to Gus, quietly listening. T.J. had said precious little since Johnny V. had joined their little group not more than a half hour before. Johnny V. continued.

"Anyway, one night Spinelli and I were at the recreation hall, shooting some pool, while other cadets are crowding around to watch this girl play. I don't think it was as much her pool as it was her looks; she must have had half the male population of Pensacola trying to court her."

There was a brief flurry of light laughter from the others, while T.J. downed the rest of his soda in silence.

He sure loves to hear himself talk, T.J. mused to himself, while outwardly keeping a neutral, almost innocent expression on his freckled face.

"Then this older guy in civilian clothes comes up and challenges Spinelli to a game and she accepts. Of course, she mops the floor with this guy, but at the end of it all, he decides he's going to get fresh with her."

"Oh, dear," Gretchen gasped softly, knowing that was often a dangerous mistake to make with Ashley Spinelli. A person simply did not touch the girl unless you wanted some part of your anatomy handed back to you.

"The next thing I know, Spinelli picks up the eight ball off the pool table and beans this guy right in the face with it; breaks his nose in two places and takes out his front teeth."

"Ouch," Gus winced.

"Later, we find out that this older guy is a full bird colonel, and he wants to press charges against Spinelli. However, the Courts-Martial determined that she acted in self-defense. It really burned that colonel's ass, I can tell you. Spinelli got the worst duties after that little fiasco. Nevertheless, she kept her spirits up, with a little help from yours truly. I actually coined the nickname 'Eightball', and it stuck."

"I never knew you gave her that nickname," T.J. said flatly. Johnny V. sidestepped the awkward comment with a shrug and dazzling smile that T.J. was starting to find a bit nauseating.

"Just dumb luck, I suppose," Johnny V. said politely.

"Yeah," T.J. said, as he headed for the bathroom, "sounds like it. Excuse me."

Johnny V. watched T.J. walk past him, while Gretchen busied herself with her mineral water. Peaches looked at Jackass sitting next to her, who whistled softly.

"Sounds like Detweiler's got a soft spot for the Boss," Billy Barton commented. Peaches rolled her eyes and was about to rib her pilot when someone caught her attention.

"Speaking of which," Peaches added, as she motioned to the front of the club, "look who just walked in the door."

It was difficult to tell just who it was that first spotted Ashley Funicello Spinelli at the door, but within seconds, nearly the entire male population of the officer's club transfixed their disbelieving eyes on the heavenly creature that slowly entered. The buzzing chatter of the club faded completely as Spinelli entered the officer's club and made her way over to the bar, pretending not to notice the stares and soft whistles as she past. Every pilot in the club watched Ashley Spinelli walk by, their eyes invariably shifting her shapely posterior as she paused at the bar.

The bar tender, which had been cleaning a glass turned and stopped cold as Ashley Spinelli motioned to him to order her drink.

"Can you give me Sex on the Beach, please?" Spinelli said in her sultry voice. The bartender just stood there, unmoving.

"Huh?" he asked dumbly. Spinelli blushed.

"A Sex on the Beach?" Spinelli repeated with a sly grin, "You know... the drink?"

"Oh, yeah … right," the bartender shook off his confusion as Spinelli noticed someone move in to stand next to her, leaning on the bar. Spinelli glanced over and smiled dazzlingly at Johnny Vermachelli as he looked back at her with a mischievous grin of his own.

"You'll have to forgive Carl," Johnny said politely, motioning to the bartender, "that's probably the best offer he's had in a long time."

Spinelli giggled lightly as Carl the bartender offered an apologetic smile of his own.

"We didn't think you were going to make it," Johnny continued.

"Sorry, Johnny," Spinelli blushed, "Angelina was a bit fussy about going to sleep, and the base taxi took its sweet time picking me up because of the rain."

"You should've called me," Johnny V. replied easily, "I live just around the corner from you."

"I know," Spinelli said, not able to meet his incredibly blue eyes, "but...I wasn't sure that...I-"

"You weren't sure how T.J. would take it, if he saw us arriving together?" Johnny finished for her. Spinelli just nodded.

"It's been so weird, seeing him again," Spinelli sighed softly, as Carl slipped her a Sex on the Beach. Spinelli started to pay for the drink, but Johnny V. put his hand on hers.

"Your money's no good tonight, Ash," he said, "come on over and join us."

Spinelli looked at Johnny V. then at then table that held her friends. Spinelli looked about for a moment in confusion.

"Where's?" she began.

"Where's T.J.?" Johnny V. repeated her question before Spinelli could complete it. Spinelli looked at him, her luscious red lips puckered into an amused smile.

"I see you haven't lost your touch, Johnny," Spinelli blushed, "you still know exactly what I'm thinking."

"That's what happens when two people spend as much time together as we did," Johnny pointed out. Spinelli shifted her weight, leaning one slender elbow on the bar, cradling her drink.

"Johnny, do you think it really would've worked out between us?" Spinelli asked after a moment of silence. She did not look back at her former fiancée, who cast his own gaze into his drink.

"Two Navy pilots married?" Johnny V. smiled, "Not a chance in hell; but the sex was good."

Spinelli flushed a brilliant red. Johnny had lied. The sex was fantastic.

"It was great," she agreed, "and there were times when even I had a hard time seeing past the sex. But there's more to love than that, Johnny."

"Now she tells me," Johnny V. joked, flashing Ashley Spinelli a dazzling grin.

"I always thought that, given enough time, we would have…." Spinelli's sultry voice trailed off.

"Don't kid yourself, Ash," Johnny said, looking directly at her, his mischievous grin dissolving into a warm smile, "we both know that you've been in love with T.J. Detweiler since the fourth grade."

"God, I'm so sorry, Johnny," Spinelli shook her head, her long, dark bangs still matted against her cheeks, "you didn't deserve half the shit I put you through. I owe you big time."

"You don't owe anyone anything," Johnny V. said firmly, pointing a finger at her, "least of all me. But there's a guy here tonight that worships the ground you walk on and he needs you."

"I hope Teej hasn't been a problem," Spinelli offered, "he can get so jealous sometimes."

"He's got a lot to defend, from where I'm standing, Ash," Johnny V. said, "I don't blame him one damn bit for being jealous; women don't come any better than you."

"Why did we break up, Johnny?" Ashley asked seriously. Johnny thought about it for a moment.

"I guess some things just don't work out, even when it should," Johnny reasoned, "maybe if we both didn't have such hectic schedules...maybe if we both weren't so set on becoming fighter pilots, maybe it would have worked out. I know you too well, Ash; you would have hated being at home all of the time. You belong in the clouds."

"I feel so damn guilty about that sometimes," Spinelli murmured, "I love having Angelina in my life; she's my whole world. I also know that I will not be a pilot forever, either. I hate being away from her even for a day, but I love flying so much."

"No one said that life was fair, Ash," Johnny V. pointed out, "but you don't have anything to feel guilty about. You've done a hell of a job with Angelina; she's such a good kid."

"She still asks about you, you know," Spinelli whispered into Johnny V. 's ear, "I still think she's got a crush on you."

"What's not to love?" Johnny V. brushed aside with a grin, "And don't forget; I'm still that girl's godfather. Any boy who breaks her heart will have to answer to me."

Spinelli giggled again, feeling more at ease by the moment.

"We'd better go join the others," Spinelli advised, taking Johnny V.'s arm, "otherwise, they might start getting ideas."

Gustav P. Griswold, lean and taught in his Marine uniform, pushed the men's room door open slowly as his small, blue eyes spotted T.J. Detweiler over by the sinks, splashing water on his face repeatedly. Gus made a quick check of the bathroom in a single glance, and then went over to stand beside his old friend as he started to wash his hands in another sink. Gus looked up into the large mirror at T.J., who just glanced at him and offered a quick, if sincere, smile.

"Something on your mind, Gus?"

"Spinelli just came in," Gus said flatly, "I just wanted you to know."

"Thanks," T.J. responded.

"So, how's it going?" Gus asked after a moment. T.J. took several paper towels and briskly rubbed his face with them, then proceeded to dry his hands.

"How's what going?"

"Between you and Spinelli?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Johnny V. still gets to you, doesn't he?" Gus asked as he tilted his head to one side.

"Is it that obvious?" T.J. asked in return, which caused both men to chuckle briefly. Gus watched T.J.'s smile fade quickly, replaced with something between fear and awkwardness, "When Johnny V.'s around Spinelli, I feel like I'm coming in second in a one horse race."

"If I were a betting man," Gus said slowly, "I'd put good money that Spinelli came here tonight to see you."

"I told her I usually hang out at the club after hours," T.J. shrugged indifferently as he tossed the paper towels in the wastebasket.

"What's going on, Teej?" Gus asked more pointedly, "Ever since this morning, you've been distant."

"I just get this strange feeling when I see Spinelli and Johnny V. together," T.J. said, leaning against the sink, arms folded, "I can't quite put my finger on it, Gus, but something tells me that those two are more than just a couple of fighter jocks from the same carrier."

"Remember what Mikey always said," Gus stated, as he dried his hands off and prepared to leave the men's room, "A feint heart never won a lady fair."

"What's that supposed to mean?" T.J. asked with a lopsided grin.

Gus stopped at the door, "It means, Teej, that if you want Spinelli in your life for good this time, you got to let her know how you feel."

Gus did not wait for any response from T.J., but left the men's room while T.J. turned back around to face his own inner demons concerning Johnny V.. It was no secret that Spinelli had once had a crush on Baby tooth that had almost blossomed into a full-fledged romance. Of all times Detweiler did not need the added complications of Johnny V. in his life while he struggled to deal with his feelings for Spinelli.

His hand, guided by some unseen force, took hold of the small box that T.J. had tucked inside his dress uniform. Mildly startled, T.J. Detweiler retrieved the small velvet covered box and opened it to reveal the diamond ring that sparkled back at him. Spinelli's engagement ring had become something of a strange good luck symbol for him; like a rabbit's foot or four-leaf clover. He had carried it with him everywhere he had ever gone in the last seven years, convinced that it protected him from harm. A silly idea really, T.J. conceded. T.J. simply was not the superstitious type.

A fleeting smile played itself across his boyish face as T.J. remembered once, in the fourth grade, when Gustav Griswold had found a fortuneteller on the playground, and how it had predicted that Gus had only one day left to live. Gus, believing that he was doomed, set out to build the ultimate trap to capture Gelman, a bully, as Gus's last defiant act. Of course, the fortuneteller was wrong, but it was the idea that mattered.

T.J. had always known that as long as he possessed Spinelli's engagement ring, nothing would happen to him. It simply was not the proper time. T.J. swore that nothing would stop him from giving that ring to Spinelli one day….to hell with what happened after that. He sighed inwardly.

"Okay, Detweiler," he asked his reflection, "what's your brilliant plan this time?"

T.J. returned to the table, when he first caught sight of the beautiful Ashley Spinelli, sitting next to Peaches. Both were chatting quietly about something or other, when Peaches looked up and nudged Spinelli, pointing to the handsome young man who stood at the head of the table, his mouth agape.

"Hi, Teej," Ashley said shyly.

"H-hi," he mumbled, "wow, Spinelli; you look fantastic tonight."

"Thanks," she said, as she motioned to a conspicuously empty chair next to her. T.J. sat down slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Gus, who had switched chairs while T.J. had been in the bathroom, looked over at Gretchen, who crossed her fingers while she innocently sipped on her mineral water.

"Would you care to dance, Ashley?" T.J. asked.

"Sure, why not?" Spinelli said, as both she and T.J. stood

T.J. looked around the table briefly, "Would you guys excuse us?"

T.J. stood and gently took Ashley Spinelli's warm hand in his own, as he absently put his other hand on the small of her back. He could still feel the dampness of Spinelli's silk dress as he led her to the dance floor and pulled her close. Spinelli put her long, tan arms around his neck, resting her elbows on T.J.'s shoulders, while they began to sway in time with the music, their faces inches apart.

At first, Spinelli looked away from T.J.'s face; those baby blue eyes and sprinkling of freckles reminded her of that night so long ago at the lake. Spinelli pulled him closer still, resting her head on T.J.'s stong, muscular shoulder, while she closed her eyes and revelled in the safe feeling that being in his arms gave her.

"It's been a while since we did this," T.J. breathed into Ashley's ear, "I'd almost forgotten how nice it feels."

Spinelli glanced shyly up at the boy-turned-man, kissing him gently on his cheek.

"It feels wonderful," she sighed.

"Ashley?"

Spinelli looked back at T.J. again, her dark, fathomless eyes dancing with his baby blue eyes. She said nothing, but watched him.

"There's something that I'm worried about," he mumbled.

"What?"

"I…I want to be a good father to Angelina," T.J. said, "but I don't know anything about being a father."

Spinelli's eyes filled with tears as she held him close.

"Just be Theodore," Spinelli said, stroking his freckled cheek with a brush of her fingernail, "everything else will come naturally."

"I've been thinking about Angelina a lot, lately," T.J. said, "and the more I think about not being there for her, the angrier I get at myself. Do you think she'll ever be able to forgive me for being such a coward?"

Ashley Spinelli thought back to the moment as Angelina prayed for her father's safe homecoming. Spinelli nestled her face on T.J.'s shoulder.

"I don't think you have much to worry about, baby," she smiled to herself.

"But she's never had a father in her life," T.J. bit, worried.

"That's not true, Teej," she confided, "Johnny's been a really good-"

Spinelli stopped, cringing to herself, as T.J. looked at her.

"Johnny's been a really good father to her?" he finished.

"He's a good man, T.J.," Spinelli defended, "he was there for me-"

"When I wasn't….right?"

"Right," Spinelli said quietly but firmly.

"It's my own fault, really," T.J. shrugged.

"What's your fault?"

"If I hadn't been such a coward, you never would have been driven into Johnny's arms."

Spinelli looked at him.

"It wasn't like that, Teej," she said sourly, "I wasn't driven anywhere; Johnny and I simply were close friends who got closer, that's all."

"How close, Spin?" T.J. stopped dancing. Spinelli winced, knowing what T.J. was thinking. Spinelli silently berated herself for not steering the conversation away sooner.

"Johnny and I…..we were engaged," Spinelli said as she forced herself to look directly into his eyes.

"You were engaged?" T.J. repeated, stunned.

"We were," Spinelli affirmed, "but that was a while ago. We're just friends now."

"Well," T.J. smiled softly, "I always knew you had good taste in guys, Spin. Johnny's a good man."

It was Ashley Spinelli's turn to be stunned. She stopped dead in her tracks as she looked, bewildered, at T.J. Detweiler.

"What?" she replied dumbly.

"Johnny V. is a good man, Spin," T.J. said flatly, "it's too bad that you guys are just friends now."

"But, I thought that-" she started.

"That I would be jealous?"

"It would be nice if you were just a little bit, sweetheart," Spinelli said, raising her eyebrow at Detweiler.

"Just because I think Johnny V. is a good guy, doesn't mean I'm not jealous, Spin," he winked. Spinelli just looked at him, suddenly feeling very stupid.

"If it were someone else, then I'd be upset," T.J. said, "but I know how you always felt about him."

"That was a long time ago," Spinelli said.

"When did you guys break up, anyway?"

"What does that matter?" Spinelli said, sunconciously searching for a reason to be angry with him. Feeling angry was so much safer than feeling love.

"I'm just curious, Spin," T.J. said, "because there's something I have to tell you."

"Are you married?" Spinelli asked, horrified at the thought. T.J. laughed softly.

"No, I'm not married, not even engaged," T.J. said, "at least…not yet."

Spinelli's mind was quickly becoming a swirling mass of emotions, all of which were completely alien to her. For the past seven years, Spinelli had defined for herself why T.J. had done what he did, what he would say when he discovered that she and Johnny V. were more than just friends.

Only now, T.J.'s reaction was not what she had expected.

"Not yet?" Spinelli shook her head, trying to dislodge the confussion that fogged her mind.

T.J. did not answer, at least not in words. He gazed into Spinelli's dark, smoldering eyes as he gently took her left hand in his right. Spinelli stood there in front of him, too stunned to move, as T.J. Detweiler slipped the diamond ring on Spinelli's finger.

"Marry me, Spin," he breathed.

Ashley Spinelli's mouth fell open as her disbelieving eyes stared at T.J. Detweiler.

What did he say? Part of her mind screamed.

Marry?

Marry him? Me?

Marry T.J. Detweiler?

Ashley Spinelli and T.J. Detweiler married?

"No…."

T.J. Detweiler stood on the dance floor, the diamond ring in the palm of his right hand as Ashley Spinelli quickly made her way through the crowds back to the table where Gretchen, Gus, Johnny V., Peaches and Billy still sat. Spinelli came up to the table quickly and tossed a wadded twenty-dollar bill on the table as she seized her purse.

"Spinelli?" Gretchen fumbled, "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not," Spinelli said quickly, "I've got to go. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Spinelli did not wait for any reply, but quickly exited the club as T.J. came over and grabbed his keys off the table.

"T.J.?" Johnny asked, "Is Spinelli okay?"

"Sure she is," T.J. said, "But I got to go."

T.J. Detweiler crossed the club floor quickly towards the front door, while Gus looked at Gretchen and scratched his head.

"I wonder what that was all about?"

He did not ask me to marry him!

He did not ask me to marry him!

The words kept echoing in the head of Ashley Funicello Spinelli as she walked down the road, gasping for air between sobs as the rain continued to pour down in torrential sheets. Though the officer's club was not more than a hundred feet behind her, Spinelli was completely soaked as she continued to walk home.

He did not ask me to marry him!

Spinelli held her sides as she walked, crying in the rain as her mascara ran down her face, mixed with rain and tears. Spinelli angrily wiped away the makeup as the rain fell harder, her exposed skin stung by the cold drops. Ashley tripped and almost fell as she paused and lifted her right leg behind her to realise that she had broken the heel of her shoe. Spinelli ripped off the shoe and threw it as far as she could away from her, then removed the other, tossing it to the ground as she continued her trek home.

He did not ask me to marry him!

Yes, he did.

No….

Yes. It's what you've always wanted and you know it.

He just blurts it out like-

Does it really matter? You love him; that's what's important here.

So, if I love him, then why am I-

Running away?

Ashley Spinelli stopped as she let the rain fall on her face, mixing with her tears, as if the rain could have washed away all those years of loneliness and fear. Fear of raising their baby on her own, fear of losing everything she had worked so hard for in her life. Fear of that demon inside her that now had broken free of its chains that Spinelli had forged with her will, threatening to consume her in its rage. Ashley Spinelli stood in the rain, shivering in the darkness as a lone headlight appeared behind her and grew steadily brighter as she both felt and heard the low rumbling of T.J. Detweiler's Hogg approach.

Spinelli did not look back, but started walking faster as T.J. came up along side her, steadying his Hogg, while he rode beside her. Spinelli's arms wrapped around her sides as she shivered and cried uncontrollably, her mind swirling like a tempest and her heart a small boat that being tossed about in a stormy sea of emotion.

"Get on the bike, Spin," T.J. said softly, but from his tone, it wasn't an offer.

"Leave me alone!" Spinelli spat in the rain at T.J..

"I did that once," T.J. said flatly, "now get on the bike."

"No," Spinelli shook her head.

"You'll catch cold-" he began.

"I don't care!" she shot back with a wave of her hand.

"I do," T.J. said firmly, "get on the bike."

Spinelli tried to walk faster, but T.J. simply gunned the Hogg's engine and pulled in front of her as Spinelli came to a sudden stop.

"Get on the goddamn bike," T.J. said quietly, as his own tears fell in the chilling rain.

"Go away!" Spinelli pleaded.

"No, I won't," T.J. shook his head.

"I won't marry you!"

"Fine, then don't marry me," T.J. growled, "but you will get on the bike. You're not walking home in the rain."

"Maybe I want to," Spinelli pouted.

"Tough," T.J. dismissed, "get on the bike."

Ashley Spinelli's dark eyes burned holes right through T.J. Detweiler as Spinelli tried to initimidate him with the coldest stare she could manage; but T.J. just looked right back at her. Spinelli broke her gaze, walked over to the back of the bike, and swung a leg over the back as she wrapped her arms around T.J. Detweiler's muscled frame. With a small push, T.J. set the Hogg into motion as Spinelli felt the powerful engine roar to life.

The rain stung Spinelli's eyes, face and exposed shoulders as she tried to burry her face in T.J.'s back. Her long, tan legs tingled with thousands of tiny raindrops as she softly cried, holding on tight. The rushing sound of the rain was drowned out by the roar of T.J.'s motorcycle as Spinelli and T.J. headed off into the rain soaked night. Spinelli could feel the warmth of T.J.'s well-muscled body beneath his leather jacket and smell the colonge which-

-which Spinelli herself had given him long ago. Ashley's hand's closed around his jacket, her long manicured fingernails dug deeply into T.J.'s skin. God, how she hated him sometimes...

...because T.J. Detweiler was the only one who could ever make her angry and happy, both at the same moment.

T.J. brought the Hogg to a slow stop and put a foot down to catch the bike as Ashley Spinelli looked around in a haze of confussion. Instead of Spinelli's billeting quarters, Spinelli found herself on a large slab of concrete that once had been the foundation of a small building that had been torn down years before. A lone krypton streetlight lit the area with a brilliant yellowish glow as T.J. shut off the engine.

"What are you doing?" Spinelli asked. T.J. turned around as far as he could manage; taking hold of Spinelli's left hand.

"You don't have to marry me, Spin," T.J. sobbed softly in the rain, "but I bought this for you several months before graduation. I want you to have it."

"Before graduation?" Spinelli repeated, "But why didn't you?"

"It never seemed to be the right time, I guess," T.J. smiled sadly, "so I kept it with me. It has been like a good luck charm for me all these years. But now, I think its time that I give this to you."

"But-" she began.

"It belongs to you, Ashley," T.J. said quietly, "no strings attached. I just wanted to ask you to marry me. I always told myself that I would ask you if we ever met up again."

Spinelli said nothing, but gazed, almost hypnotized, by the simplistic beauty of the diamond ring that T.J. held out to her in the palm of his hand.

Spinelli watched wordlessly as T.J. took the ring and slipped it onto her finger once again, her skin shivering more from the feel of the ring than from the chilling rain that had soaked her dress. Large raindrops fell from her eyelashes, down her cheeks, onto her luscious red lips as T.J. came close, and kissed her once more. Spinelli let him kiss her softly at first, then more forcefully as her blood began to boil deep within her. She returned the kiss offered, drinking in the taste of T.J.'s lips in the desert rain as she ran her fingers through his soaked hair and pulled him closer. Spinelli then ran her tongue along T.J.'s lips, first the bottom, then the top, as she began to both eat and drink the boy that she had loved long before she even understood what love really was all about.

Spinelli slid off the back of the Hogg, never taking her lips from T.J.'s, as she moved around to the front of the bike and straddled it once more to face T.J., pulling him close. Her strong hands grasped T.J.'s soaked shirt and ripped it from him as effortlessly as she disengaged her kiss and pushed him back slightly as she began to gently kiss his chest, made all the more inviting by the summer rains. Wordlessly, T.J. reached up with one hand and slid Spinelli's dress straps from her shoulders, one at a time, as Spinelli seized him and pulled him into her chest, moaning softly as she shivered in delight.

As T.J. held her close, Spinelli's mind drifted back over the years…

Back to a small room by a lake.

And somewhere withing the shadowbox of Ashley Spinelli's memories, she heard one song…

Her favorite song.

And as the rains fell…

Ashley Spinelli went where her heart would take her.

However, this time….

She decided she would not travel alone. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

I.

From Ashley Spinelli's Diary:

The night T.J. Detweiler asked me to marry him, although we did not know it just yet, the whole world was on the verge of total war...

Gretchen Grundler-Griswold moaned softly as the phone rang again, breaking into her otherwise warm and silent world of sleep. She instinctively grabbed for the phone, managing to knock over a handfull of small items even before she was completely awake as she pushed herself up onto one arm, which drapped her over her husband. With one quick movement, Gretchen flung her long red hair back over her slim shoulder as she held the cold plastic phone up to her ear. Her blue eyes, barely slits so early in the morning, looked down at Gus as one hand gently stroked his well muscled bicep, her fingertip tracing Gus's Marine Corps tattoo as she spoke into the phone.

"This is Leiutenant Griswold," Gretchen answered perfunctually. The voice on the other end was that of a male, strong and deep, which quickly said several key phrases which only Gretchen understood. In a matter of seconds, Gretchen bolted upright in bed, her red hair cascading off of her shoulders and down her slim back, while Gus stirred slowly beneath her. Gretchen returned the spoken countersign quickly and listened as her orders were spoken softly.

"I understand, sir," Gretchen answered as clearly as she could, "I can take the next military flight out of Fullon Air Station tomorrow evening...it will take me about five hours to reach Washington D.C., sir...Yes, sir...I hope you're right, too, sir. Thank you."

Gretchen reached across the bed and set the phone back down on its craddle slowly, while inside her heart began to race so quickly she felt faint. Her eyes went back down to her husband, but this time, Gus Griswold's own baby blue eyes starred right back at his wife. Gretchen locked her own eyes with those of her husband's, then she looked at him almost apologetically. She hated the mere thought of having to leave him for Washington D.C., but right now the world needed Gretchen Grundler-Griswold, Intelligence Officer in the United States Marine Corps. Gretchen forced herself up as she swung her legs over her side of the bed and down onto the thin, cold carpeting of one of Fallon Air Station's many officer quarters.

Gus watched his wife get out of bed and shed her small, thin night gown. For just a brief moment, Gus laid on his side in bed as he watched his wife rise from their bed and make her way across the darkened room. His moment of private admiration came quickly to an end as Gretchen began to fumble about in the darkness for her clothing and her small dufflebag, which she always kept packed and ready. Gus sat up in bed, fighting off the feelings of disappointment at his wife's recall orders, while he slipped his glasses onto his small, round face.

"Trouble, Gretchen?" he asked softly.

"Isn't there always trouble?" Gretchen replied with a tinge of anger in her voice.

Gus Griswold rose silently as he took his jeans from the chair beside his part of their bed and slipped them on, but Gretchen held up her hand in soft protest.

"Gus," Gretchen said quietly, "you should go back to bed. You've got a big day tomorrow. Besides, I can't leave until tommorrow night."

"When you're ready to leave, I'm at least going ot take you to the terminal, Gretch," Gus said dimissively, "I may not get to see you for a while, after all."

Gretchen set her dufflebag down and crossed the small bedroom swiftly to take her husband into her arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Gretchen mumbled.

"For what?"

"That I have to leave you," Gretchen whispered, "it seems like every time we get some time together, I get called away."

"That's part of the job," Gus grinned, while he tried to hide his own disappointment, "but if the higher-ups feel that they need you, then it must be serious."

Gretchen looked down as she gently stroked Gus's chest.

"It is serious...isn't it?" Gus asked.

"Very serious," Gretchen replied with a tinge of fear in her otherwise steady voice.

"Then I'm glad they chose you," Gus continued, "because I wouldn't trust just anyone, you know."

"Sometimes it all feels so overwhelming," Gretchen fretted, "Sometimes, I'm not sure I'm up to the challenge. I think it's too much responsibility for just one person."

Gus's grin was replaced with a warm and glowing smile, "If that responsibility has to fall on just one person, I'm glad it's you."

"You have too much faith in me sometimes," Gretchen admonished her husband quietly, "Everyone does."

"Don't sell yourself short, Gretch," Gus said as he lifted her pouting face up, "You're not just an Intelligence Officer; you're a woman that has a moral conscience, too. That's very important in today's world. Especially when so few people in Washington have ever heard of morality."

"When can you join me?" Gretchen asked quietly.

"As soon as I'm done at Top Gun," Gus said, "I can contact my C.O. and get some leave to join you in Washington."

"That would be very nice," Gretchen said wistfully, "I guess I'd better get dressed and start going over some briefs I have with me. When I get to Washington, I'd better be ready to provide some answers. The Pentagon doesn't like to be kept waiting, you know."

"So I've heard," Gus joked softly as Gretchen slipped from his arms and took hold of her overnight case. She did not glance back at him nor even offer any more conversation, but went silently into the bathroom. Gretchen wouldn't sleep for the remainder of the night; Gus knew his wife all too well.

Gus ran both hands over his short, cropped hair and sighed to himself before he went over to his dresser and turned on the small lamp. A distant sound of thunder rumbled as quick flashes of lightening crossed the cloud covered night. Gus paused, his gut twisting slowly into the knot that it always did just before something big was about to happen. Then last time he felt that gut feeling was two years ago, when he participated in a night time air strike against Syrian forces. The images of the thousands of tracer bullets and heavy flack air burst bombs filled his vision as the sounds of panicked pilots filled his ears. The United States had only marginal losses that night, according to official news sources, but those marginal losses were some of Gus Griswold's best friends. Nearly two years later their last transmissions filled his ears; their cries of fear as their planes were destroyed all around them.

Gus pushed those memories away from his mind as far as he could; after all, it couldn't happen again.

Could it?

II.

Fighter Weapons Training School, Fullon Naval Air Station, Nevada...

Day 19

Time 09:47...

'We've reached the half way point of your training at Top Gun; first place is curently Johnny V. with Spinelli a close second, just two points behind, with Billy Barton at third.

Your next mission is to attack and neutralize enemy forces from the air. This will require air to ground ordinance and a keen eye for any possibile enemy attack planes. There will be both stationary and mobile targets, and no two runs you make will be the same.'

- Ghost Rider

"I've got him, Spin!" T.J. Detweiler shouted in triumph, "three boogies at our nine o'clock position. Range is twenty two miles and closing."

Ashley Spinelli checked her own radar screen and nodded briefly.

"Good call, Prankster Prince," she said, "it seems that Ghost Rider is not above a little cheating today."

"We're near the limits of the airspace now, Eightball," Detweiler estimated, "maybe they might try to force us out of bounds?"

"They can try, boy of mine," Spinelli gritted her teeth, "but I'm not going down so easily. Ghost Rider has been going up against us all week; I'm getting a little annoyed he keeps picking on us."

"Uh oh," T.J. murmurred worriedly, "I know that tone in your voice, Spinelli; you've got something in mind for Ghost Rider?"

"Just a nice, generous slice of humble pie, that's all," Spinelli replied as she took her F-15-A-D Super Hornet into a controlled dive, rolling away from the advancing intruders. Somewhere far beyond the horizon, two trainer fighter jets and a Russian built SU-32 Superflanker bore down on the F-15-A-D Super Hornet, intent on taking it's pilot and navigator out of the competition once and for all.

"Shouldn't we arm the weapons systems, or at least ready the ECM package?" Prankster Prince asked nervously, as his eyes remained glued on the multi-colored radar screen. The SU-32 Super Flanker bore a much heavier heat signiture than those of it's much smaller companions. Somehow Spinelli knew Ghost Rider was piloting that machine. Even Detweiler had noticed that Ghost Rider had a tendency to go for the Russian built fighter craft; they were faster and often more manueverable and could carry more weapons to boot.

"Not yet," Spinelli answered Detweiler's question, as her gloved hand made minute adjustments to the small manual controls for the air foils, "just let them come to us. That Super Flanker is much too fast for us, but we can still out manuever him."

"We can't outclimb or out dive him, Spin," Detweiler reminded his pilot quickly, "so how?"

"Watch and learn," Spinelli said with an edge to her voice as she poured on the speed. Her F-15-A-D Super Hornet responded immediately as Spinelli watched her scope with anticipation. All three enemy craft increased their own speed accordingly while Detweiler tried to get a visual on their antagonists.

"They're closing with us, Spin," Detweiler reported, "Range is now fourteen miles. They'll be within simiulated missle lock any time now."

"Give me more power to the engines, Teej," Spinelli instructed, "and give me a firing solution on that simulated enemy base; I want to pound that place into powder before Ghost Rider can get a good lock on us."

"Stand by," Detweiler replied quickly, "range to target is twelve miles; I pick out three mobile targets and looks like at least six stationary targets."

"Any missle launchers in that group?"

"Um...yeah," T.J. figured, "I make it out to be three mobile launchers bearing north by north west at zero one three, nautical."

"Okay, this is what we do," Spinelli ordered, "give me three drop ordinances and two air to air missles ready to go"  
"Are you expecting company?" T.J. asked with a childish grin.

"If I were running this senario," Spinelli reasoned, "I would put at least three birds in the air to hassle any incomming aircraft, so I figure Ghost Rider would as well."

T.J. Detweiler stabbed the keypad at his right hand, inputing the armorment code as Ashley Spinelli brought the F-15-A-D Super Hornet out of a hard left bank turn and leveled her out. The unpredictable desert winds above Fullon Air Station made manual targeting a gruesome chore, but it was all part of the training. Spinelli glanced at both wingtips, then absently over her right shoulder.

"We're inbound now, Teej," Spinelli anounced, "so it's your baby now. Can you hit those targets?"

"Hey!" T.J. returned her question with a mock tinge of hurt in his voice, "It's me, remember?"

Spinelli's lips pressed together in a vain effort to try and hide the grin which crossed her mouth.

"We won't get another free run on the base, Teej," Spinelli said, "so make this run count, okay?"

"You sound nervous, bosslady," T.J. ribbed his pilot, "What's the matter? No faith in the junior officer?"

"I really want to win this, Teej," Spinelli said seriously, "It would be a real boost to my career."

T.J. did not immediately reply, but glanced at the targeting sensors just to the left of his vision.

"Don't worry, Commander," T.J. said stiffly, "I may be a screw up, but when it comes to my job, I can be just as serious about winning as...well, anyone."

Ashley Spinelli paused as she felt a twinge of regret in her comment.

"Look Teej," Spinelli started, "I didn't mean that you were a-"

"Forget it, Spin," T.J. said, "Let's just win this one, okay?"

Spinelli debated for a split second about smoothing T.J.'s hurt feelings over with some sweet talk, but now was just not that time. Spinelli would settle for another encounter like the one she had with him last night, to soothe his wounded ego. She nodded in agreement.

"Okay, Teej," Spinelli said softly, "If anyone can hit those targets down there, it's you."

"Thanks," T.J. replied, his voice sounding more relaxed, "Drop point zero zero nine and closing. Adjust our speed to six six four."

"Roger," Spinelli said as she acelerated the F-15-A-D Super Hornet while she fought the controls against the buffering winds.

"Those interceptors will be all over us in about twenty seconds," T.J. commented.

"I know," Spinelli acknowledged, "but we'll get at least one free pass over the enemy airbase before we have to engage them."

Spinelli brought the F-15-A-D Super Hornet around and leveled her out as she took the fighter towards the deck. Near sonic vibrations slammed into the desert below as Spinelli flew only several hundred feet above the ground at a speed that T.J. Detweiler found almost impossible to follow. Spinelli felt her way along the rises and falls of the desert floor, could feel every twist and turn it had to offer without having to have any physical contact with it. T.J. silently admired Spinelli's uncanny piloting abilities; in his experience, there was no finer pilot anywhere in the Navy. Not even Ghost Rider himself.

Speaking of which...

"Spin, we've got a problem," Detweiler suddenly barked out, "Ghost Rider's just dropped from my scope!"

Ashley Spinelli checked her own readouts; indeed, Ghost Rider had completely vanished. Spinelli started to look wildly about but the horizon remained ominously empty. Spinelli shifted her dark eyes back to her scope, her mouth dry. She could plainly see the two MIG-29s that had been flanking Ghost Rider, but the SU-37 Super Flanker was no where to be seen. Spinelli suddenly banked her F-15-A-D Super Hornet and pushed the throttle as far forward as it would go as T.J. was unexpectedly forced back into his seat with crushing force.

"What the hell are you doing!" T.J. yelped, "We're off course!"

"It's a set up, Teej!" Spinelli shot back, her throat suddenly dry with fear, "I can feel it!"

"You're way off course!" T.J. cried, "Get us back on course!"

"You don't understand!" Spinelli growled, "Those MIGs are setting us up! We've got to get out of here now!"

"Whoa, Spin!" T.J. protested, "Take it easy!"

"Where is he!" Spinelli called back to her navigator, "Do you see him?"

"No, I don't," T.J. said evenly, "He might be comming up at us from below."

"We've got to break contact!" Spinelli argued, her voice high and broken. T.J. could feel the tension in Spinelli's voice; her panic.

"Spin, we're almost on target!" T.J. pointed out, "Just a few more seconds and-"

"It's no good, Sara!" Spinelli panicked, "They're all around us!"

"Sara!" T.J. yelled forward into his mike as he tried to get Spinelli under control, "Spinelli! It's me, T.J.! Take it easy!"

"Call us out!" Spinelli ordered her navigator, "Call us out now!"

"But, Spinelli-"

"That's an order, Leiutenant!"

Lt. T.J. Detweiler pulled his mask over his face and slapped the comm switch next to his console.

"This is Able One to Fox Leader, over."

"This is Fox Leader, go Able One," the booming voice of Ghost Rider replied, "Is there a problem, over?"

For a moment, T.J. was not sure how to reply.

"We're experiencing...techincal difficulties, over," T.J. said finally, "Requesting permission to return to base."

"Roger that, Able One," Ghost Rider acknowledged, "Are you declaring and in-flight emergency, over?"

"Negitive on that, Fox Leader," T.J. mumbled, "our bird is operational, over."

"Understood, Able One," Ghost Rider said, then added, "Report to me once you're on the deck, over."

T.J. shivered at the order, but nodded.

"Understood, Fox Leader," he said, "Able One returing to base. Out."

T.J. closed the comm switch, then leaned forward slightly towards Spinelli.

"Spin?" T.J. asked in a soft yet clear voice, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Teej," Spinelli affirmed uneasily, her voice shaken, "I'm good. Sorry about that."

"Hey, it's cool," Detweiler replied slowly, "Let's take her home, shall we?"

Lt. Commander Ashley Spinelli took a deep, uneven breath and nodded. She had heard the entire exchange between T.J. and Ghost Rider and the tone of Ghost Rider's voice; there was little room for doubt in her mind that Ghost Rider would wash her out of Top Gun now. A dark feeling of foreboding fell on her chest, a realization that in that one instant, Ashley Spinelli had, for all intensive purposes, ruined her whole career. The Navy was not forgiving towards its pilots; they were expected to be the best of the best, not someone who freaked out in a moment of flashback.

Spinelli took her F-15-A-D Super Hornet into a slow bank to the north, then leveled the plane out for a slow ride back to Fullon Air station. Minutes pasted, but T.J. Detweiler had said nothing to her. Spinelli's dark eyes glanced briefly into the rear view mirror of the cockpit, situated just above and to her left, to where T.J. Detweiler could been seen. For his part, Detweiler busied himself with readouts and adjustments to the navigational controls of the warplane.

"Teej?" Spinelli finally broke the silence between them. She watched T.J.'s helmet come up to face her at the sound of her voice. Spinelli briefly checked the comm switch, to make certain that their conversation would not be heard by anyone else, then she continued.

"I'm...sorry," Spinelli offered in a shaky voice, "I never freaked out like that before."

"It's okay, Spin," T.J. said back, "There's no need to apoloigise for anything; you took us farther than anyone else ever could have at Top Gun and I'm grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Grateful for just having the chance to see you again," T.J. said wistfully, "and to see what a beautiful young girl Angelina has become.It's been one hell of a ride."

"You know, Teej," Spinelli started slowly, "I've given some thought to what I said at the ice cream palor before."

It was T.J.'s turn to feel the aprehension pressing down on him like some unseen weight.

"You mean...about telling her that I'm her father?" he asked slowly, hoping all the while he had not misjudged her.

"Yeah, that," Spinelli said, "Maybe it would be better for Angelina to know about her father; to know who he is, and what a fine man he has grown up to be. Maybe one day, she'll be as proud of you as I've always been"  
"I never knew you felt that way, Spin," T.J. honestly commented, as he slowly let out a sigh of relief.

"I...always have, Teej," Spinelli said quietly as she blinked away the tears the welled up in her eyes, "I know that you and my father had...problems after Angelina was born. But he still loved you...kind of like a son."

"Yeah," T.J. said simply, "Your dad was always too easy on me, it seemed."

"I want you to know now that I always stood up for you," she continued, "and that I wouldn't have wanted anyone else as her father than you."

"Well," T.J. smiled, "I always thought that you would have beautiful children someday, Spin."

"With the right man, anything's possible," Spinelli said, "that's what mom always says."

III.

Ashley Spinelli stood in the shower as steaming hot water rushed over her body and with one hand on the tiled wall of the women's showers, ran her other hand across her bare shoulders and neck. Her jet black hair clung loosely about her beautiful round face as she forced her inner demons away with sheer will alone. The death of Sara had affected Spinelli more than she had cared to admit; the soft visage of Sara's youthful face stood out in Spinelli's mind like some broken song which played over and over again in Spinelli's mind. No matter how she tried to move past Sara's death, Spinelli knew it was no use. She had been careless in that one moment of truth and young Sara had paid the price for Spinelli's failure with her life. Now she had dragged T.J. down into the dark pit of her own self-pity and to an almost certain dismmisal from Top Gun.

Sara's death was an open wound that never seemed to heal; just when Spinelli thought she was pushing past it, the spector of Sara would come up and overtake her like a wild animal that cruelly stalked her before pouncing. It would tear her insides out, rip appart her heart and soul without mercy as though it were eating her alive. Spinelli covered her face from view, drowning her own hot tears in the merciful shower of hot water. After a while, Lt. Commander Ashley Spinelli sighed and slapped the hot water valve off as she carefully rung the excess water from her thick, black hair. With a concerted effort, Spinelli opened the small shower door and began to feel around for the towel she had hung on the wall nearby. To her mild surprise, the towel lept into her gropping hand, held by a muscular hand.

Spinelli looked up to see T.J. Detweiler standing on the other side of the shower door, looking back at her with a thinly veiled expression of worry nestled in his trademark lop-sided grin. Spinelli said nothing to her navigator and best friend as she took the towel wordlessly and wiped off her face and neck.

"Sorry about being in here right now," T.J. motioned about the women's shower room, "but I was worried about you."

"It's okay, Teej," Spinelli grined back awkwardly as she stepped from the shower, "it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

"I'd almost forgotten how heavenly you look beneath that flightsuit of yours, Commander," T.J. eyed Spinelli's curves as he leaned against the wet tiled wall next to her.

Spinelli grinned slightly, "Ever since last night, Teej?"

T.J. Detweiler did not offer any further explanation, but continued to leer uncerimoniously at his superior officer.

Spinelli did not bother to cover herself from his eyes; something about his gazing at her brought out the animal in her. Despite all they had been through, Spinelli could not help but feel excited when she was alone with T.J. Detweiler; especially when they were this close. For a split second, Ashley Spinelli seriously considered grabbing T.J. Detweiler and pulling him into the shower with her; to make the mad and passionate love that burned inside her like a raging volcano. No man on earth had ever been able to make Ashley spinelli feel exactly the way T.J. could; not even Johnny. Yeah, Johnny had been a good lover; a wild animal. But he could never make her feel the animal passions as well as the deep, painful love both at the same moment.

Not like Theodore J. Detweiler.

Spinelli pushed away those primal thoughts; she went over to the wooden bench placed between rows of lockers as she finished drying her body, making it more of a show for T.J., then tossed him the towel playfully as she slipped on her briefs and a white tank top shirt. T.J. pulled the towel off of his face as he watched Ashley Spinelli dress, then placed the towel on the bench beside her.

"Spin, about what happened up there today," T.J. began slowly, "I just want you to know that I understand what you're going through."

Spinelli might have lashed out at anyone else for presuming to understand, but the sincere look in her boy's eyes melted Spinelli's heart. She paused in dressing, still half out of her flightsuit, then she slipped her arms through the sleeves. Spinelli turned and silently offered to have T.J. zip up her flightsuit which he did, while Spinelli placed her hands on his broad shoulders.

"No offense, boy of mine," Spinelli breathed, "but I don't think you really know what it's like to lose someone under your command."

T.J. looked up at Ashley's angelic face, her long dark bangs which hung seductively in front of dark, smoldering eyes which betrayed the volcano of emotion that made Ashley Spinelli the only girl T.J. had ever been affraid of-and the only girl he had ever loved in his entire life. He could both feel and smell her sweet, hot breath on his face as he struggled to keep his eyes locked on hers.

"No, I guess not," T.J. recanted, "but I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you if you need to talk."

"I'm sorry that I screwed up our chances here," Spinelli offered, "here I was affraid that you would be the one to get both of us tossed out of Top Gun, and I'm the one who-"

"Stop it, Spin," T.J. held his finger to her lips, then kissed her mouth, "you belong here; this is where you were destined to be. I always knew that you were special; you were different than any other girl I've ever known. You have a way about you, Spin; something that makes you so totally different than anyone else. Everyone here knows you're the best pilot to come through those gates in years...maybe decades. I know you'll go far."

"How do you know?" Spinelli asked.

"I can feel it," T.J. responded ernestly, "But you've got to do something you're not yet willing to do."

"And what would that be?" Spinelli asked defensively, as she started to dress again.

"You've got to forgive yourself," T.J. said quietly, "I think you're affraid."

"Affraid?" Spinelli echoed with a raised eyebrow, "Affraid of what?"

"You need to put a face with your fear," T.J. said, "the reason Ghost Rider can take us down so easily is your fear. When he flies that Super Flanker, you get all nuts; you start thinking about how you feel you let Sara down. Yet, everyone knows you're the best of all of us."

Spinelli turned away from T.J. and removed her boots from her locker and slammed the locker door closed forcefully.

"Yeah, a great pilot," Spinelli echoed, "but when the chips were down, I got sot Sara killed. When I was in Hawaii, I thought I could learn to live with Sara's death. I even went to her parents and presented them with Sara's medal. I thought that would cleanse me of the guilt. But now I know I can't. Not then, not now...not ever. What happened today just reaffirmed that to me."

"Spinelli," T.J. pulled her around to face him, "No one's saying that you shouldn't feel something about Sara's death; but don't throw two lives away."

Spinelli starred at T.J. Detweiler a moment longer, then slipped out from his gentle, loving embrace.

"I wish it were that simple, Teej," Spinelli whispered, "but after what happened up there today, I have to do some serious thinking about my future."

"Are you going to walk away from the Navy?" T.J. asked point blank. Spinelli noticiblly shivered; T.J. always had a way of getting his point across-even if it hurt to do so.

"Maybe," she said. Spinelli started for the door while a dumbfounded and exasperated T.J. Detweiler just stood there behind her, "maybe I just don't have what it takes anymore."

T.J. Detweiler watched in silence as Ashley Spinelli headed for the women's lockroom door, then picked up Spinelli's towel and looked at it sadly.

"If you don't have what it takes, Spin," he mumbled to himself, "then...who does?"

IV.

Captain Mitch Deacon stood at parade rest in front of the window which gave him a spectacular view of NAS Fullon's primary runway as the afternoon sun slowly sunk in the west. Behind his massive frame and across his desk, both Ashley Spinelli and T.J. Detweiler stood and attention. Ghost Rider knew they had stood there just behind him for some time, but they could wait. His mind slowly churned over the events of the afternoon. After some five or six minutes, Ghost Rider finally spoke; his voice the sound of the crack of thunder in the otherwise silent office.

"At ease," he boomed. Off to Ghost Rider's left, barely two paces away, Matt Swenson, aka Assassin, leaned one elbow against a filing cabinet as he flipped through both Spinelli's and Detweiler's personel folders. Every award, assginment and duty was written down in those pages. When Ghost Rider spoke, however, Swenson looked up from his study and watched his commanding officer silently.

"I want an accountability from you, Spinelli, as to what when on up there today," Ghost Rider ordered, "and why you broke off enagement of your assigned target."

"There was some kind of technical malfunction-" T.J. Detweiler began, but Ghost Rider held up his frying-pan sized hand to silence the disruptive junior officer.

"I had the ground crew go over your bird from stem to stern," he rumbled, "and they didn't find any problems."

"That's because there wasn't any problems, sir," Spinelli spoke up, no longer willing to let T.J. take the brunt of her failure, "I believe my navigator might have...misinterpreted the problem."

"And what would that problem be, Spinelli?" Assassin asked as he waved Spinelli's file in front of her face, "I make it a point of studying every pilot that comes to NAS Fullon; that's what helps keep them alive. If I didn't know any better, it might seem that your recent encounter with those North Korean MIGs has underminded your confidence."

"So, what is your offical story, then?" the dark skined commander demanded softly with a voice which shook the room.

"There was...I thought there was a malfunction...sir," T.J. Detweiler tuned in again. Ghost Rider glanced over at the junior officer with a mild look of annoyance.

"You realize, of course, that because were already two points behind Johnny Vermachelli at the beginning...before your malfunction, you are now eight points behind the leader. That puts you two at the very bottom of the list and a distant fourth place. Unless you two can pull out some kind of miricle with the time you have left here, and I mean that you get first place in every mission from now on, you won't have a snowball's chance in Hades of even ranking in the top three."

"Are you two sure you still want to go on?" Assassin asked. He leaned his left elbow on the file cabinet once more, gently rubbing his clean shaved chin with a finger. His clear, blue eyes did not focus on Spinelli and Detweiler, but rather somewhere else. He waited a moment, then looked directly at them when neither did not answer immediately.

"I want to compete...sirs," Spinelli said finally, "I owe it to Sara."

"Then, for her sake, you need to put this problem to bed once and for all," Ghost Rider stood up, "Your next mission is at zero seven hundred tommorrow. Dismissed."

Spinelli and Detweiler both snapped to attention, but it was only Spinelli who saluted Captain Deacon, since she was the ranking of the two. Ghost Rider returned her salute as both Spinelli and Detweiler spun about and left the room.

"What do you think, Mitch?" Assassin asked after a moment.

Ghost Rider went slowly over to a bookcase where nearly a dozen trophies and other awards lined the far wall of his office. Captain Mitch Deacon gazed absently at one or two of them for a moment, before his eyes came to rest on the single most important award he had ever recieved in his life.

The Congressional Medal of Honor.

"Do you remember Gaza?" Ghost Rider asked wistfully.

"How could I forget?" Assassin mumbled, "You saved my life that night. Biggest damn air battle since the Battle for Britain."

"I lost my navigator that night, too," Ghost Rider said quietly, "A young Leuitenant."

"Like her...you see a lot of yourself in Spinelli, don't you?"

Ghost Rider looked back at Assassin; comander and subordinate. Friend to friend.

"Too much, sometimes," Ghost Rider replied, "but the difference is I was able to push past what had happened; I'm not so sure Spinelli can, though."

V.  
Gretchen Grundler sniffed the brewed tea gingerly as she poured a steaming cup of the liquid into her mug, which had inscribed:

"Me Boss. You Not."

"Wonderful," Gretchen sighed as she took a sip, allowing the hot tea to tantlize her palette before she took another sip. Just then a knock at her front door caused Gretchen to jump involuntarily.

"Who in the world?" she stammered, but took a step back when she opened the door.

"T.J. Detweiler?" Gretchen asked.

"Hi, Gretch," T.J.'s boyish young face, sprinkled with freckles, glowed warmly at his old friend, "Mind if I come in?"

"Huh?" Gretchen blinked, then blushed, "Oh...sure, T.J.. Forgive me; I wasn't expecting company today."

T.J. Detweiler entered Gretchen and Gus's billeting quarters and looked around.

"Gretch," T.J. began, "I need your help."

"Certainly, T.J.," Gretchen said, as she offered him some hot tea, to which T.J. politely refused.

T.J. came into the kitchen, where Gretchen Grundler fetched her own mug and began to pile papers into a briefase. T.J. motioned towards the documents.

"Going somewhere, Gretch?" he asked.

"If I tell you," Gretchen chimed with a grin, "then I'd have to kill you."

"Ha, ha," Detweiler replied with a thick sarcasm.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"It's not for me, Gretch," T.J. said, "It's for Spinelli."

"Spinelli?"

"I think she might resign her commission. That's why I'm here; you might be the only one who can help me change her mind."

"Why in the world would she? Oh; you must be referring to Sara?"

"Yeah," T.J. nodded, "I need the file pertaining to Spinelli's encounter with those MIGs over the Sea of Japan."

"T.J.," Gretchen mumbled, "that is restricted information."

"I know," T.J. said, "but I think that Spinelli is affraid to push her flying to her limits because she doesn't have a face to put with her fear."

Gretchen considered T.J.'s statement.

"You mean, if Spinelli knew who it was that shot her down, that she might be able to shake off Sara's death?"

"She's affraid because all she saw was a plane, not a person," T.J. said finally, "You've known Spinelli as long as I have; she was always ready to duke it out with any bully on the playground. But remember when she started getting those crank phone calls in the sixth grade?"

Gretchen sat down at the dinner table as T.J. Detweiler sat across from her, watching her intently the whole time. Gretchen remembered when Spinelli, as a sixth grader, started to recieve crank phone calls at both school and home from an anomous boy. It had spooked Spinelli so bad that she started to skip school, until T.J. and friends found out the culprit, Irwin Lawson's younger brother, Sam. Once Spinelli had found out who it was that had been stalking her, Spinelli cornered Sam Lawson near Old Rusty and beat him to a pulp; it was only later that Spinelli learned that Sam Lawson had developed a crush on the older Ashley Spinelli. But the point was, once Spinelli confronted her fear and dominated it, she returned to her old self once more.

"So, you're saying that if Spinelli learned more about what happened that day," Gretchen said slowly, "She would be able to overcome her fear?"

"Exactly," T.J. said.

"I'll see what I can do," Gretchen announced finally, "but I can't make any promises; I'm not even sure I can get to those files."

"Thanks, Gretch," T.J. said, taking Gretchen's slim hand and shaking it briskly, "I owe you."

"It's a good thing for you that I don't keep count," Gretchen Grundler-Griswold said with a lop-sided grin.

VI.

"I did it!" Angelina cried out, as she turned to her mother, "Mommy! I won!"

Angelina looked up at her mother in triumph as the man behind the carnaval booth reached down and handed the young girl a large stuffed pink hippopotomus. Angelina held up the stuffed toy to her mother, who gave her daughter a warm hug for a job well done.

"Way to go, Angie!" Ashley Spinelli cooed, "I knew you could make that basket!"

T.J. Detweiler looked back over his shoulder and smiled as he fumbled for the wad of dollar bills from his jacket pocket. He discreatly handed the man behind the booth the money, grateful that the man had seen to it that little Angelina could make the otherwise difficult shot.

"Thanks, mister," T.J. said quietly.

"Not at all, sir," he replied easily, "I've got a daughter myself about her age."

T.J. ran a few steps away from the basket ball hoop booth as he raced to catch up to the Spinelli girls. Ashley glanced back at him and mouthed thank you as they slowly made their way down the aisles of games and food at the NAS Fullon Carnaval, which was held every six months. T.J. blushed slightly and shrugged as he patted his daughter on her small shoulder.

"Angie," T.J. said aloud, "You really know how to shoot some hoops, that's for sure! Have you ever played basket ball before?"

The added attention from the handsome T.J. Detweiler caused Angelina to giggle hysterically, her small apple cheeks blushing a brilliant red in the cool evening air.

"Oh, no, T.J.!" she said shyly, looking up at him with a glance, "I've never done that before!"

"Maybe T.J. brought you some luck tonight, huh, baby?" Ashley asked. Angelina did not reply in words, but merely giggled again as she held out her small hand to the handsome flyer.

"Hey," T.J. sang out, "How about we get some ice cream, then go on the Screamer Roller Coaster again?"

"Yay!" the tiny girl agreed quickly.

"Augh!" Ashley grumbled as she held her stomach, "You guys go on; I can't take any more rides tonight!"

"How about you, sweetheart?" T.J. looked down at Angelina. Angelina looked back at him with eyes as dark as her mother's, the smile on her face as wide as Ashley had ever seen it.

"Could we momma? Please?"

"Sure, baby," Ashley said, "Just take it easy on the junk food or you'll be up all night."

"Okay!" Angelina said as she ran just ahead of them towards the ice cream booth. She stood behind several other smaller children, but her enthusiasm was no less just because she was older. Ashley Spinelli laughed softly to herself as she pulled alongside her date and took T.J.'s strong arm and wrapped it around her slim, athletic waist.

"It's good to see her so happy again," Ashley reminissed, "it's been a long time."

"Too long, I'd say," T.J. agreed.

"T.J.?"

"Yeah?"

Spinelli hesitated, then pushed forward before her courage failed her.

"Do you think we should tell her tonight?" Spinelli did not look at T.J., but straight at the ground in front of them.

T.J. did not reply immediately as he wistfully looked over at Angelina. Already the young girl was jabbering excitedly at another child, a young boy, who was also waiting in line with his parents for some of the carnaval's delicious ice cream. At that moment, T.J. felt somewhat jealous of Angelina; how it seemed that his daughter did not have a care in the world. But that really was not true. Like everyone else, Angelina had her own problems and her own issues to deal with; and now it seemed that her problems would become even more difficult when she was told of her real father.

"No, not right now," he stated simply, which took Spinelli a bit by surprise.

"Why not?"

"Too many distractions," T.J. indicated all of the noise and lights of the busy carnaval around them, "But what about having dinner together tommorrow night?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Spinelli sighed, "I guess I'm ready for it."

"I'm ready too, if you are, Spin," T.J. said honestly, "but I'm not sure just how to go about dropping a bomb like that on a child so young. I'm afraid it might be too much for her."

"I was afraid of that, too," Spinelli agreed, "but she's really taken to you, Teej. She talks about you all of the time."

That bit of news seemed to startle T.J..

"Really?" he asked. Spinelli looked back up at her date, half-amused that T.J. had not seen the obvious in Angelina's eyes.

"Of course," Spinelli continued, "I think she has a crush on you."

"Oh," T.J. said awkwardly, unable to find just the right words for a reply. This time, however, T.J.'s uncomfortable reply made Spinelli laugh out loud.

"Don't tell me that the Navy's best navigator couldn't see the love-lorn affections of a certain young girl right before his eyes?"

T.J. made a lop-sided grin, the one that often made Spinelli wonder what he was thinking.

"Are you talking about Angelina now...or yourself?"

For just a split second, T.J. felt as though he were treading on emotional thin ice; that Spinelli's mood would immediately change from one of happiness to that of the same old cold fish if he were to sound off with one of his old trademark smart aleck remarks. But Ashley Spinelli caught the side of T.J.'s cheek and gave him a warm kiss.

"Both," she said simply. 


	9. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

I.

'Your target is a missle sylo located by the red dot on your battle screens; but be warned. There are surface and air forces that will throw everything they have at you to prevent you from achieving your goal. You have two loads of drop ordinance; no laser guided bombs this time. Your navigators will take control once you're inside the kill zone. Good luck...'

-Ghost Rider

Ashley Spinelli would have given her last dime in order to see where she was flying, but dark rolling storm clouds obscurred everything but the most sophisticated electronics gear. The air outside the cockpit canopy was thick with rain and brilliant flashes of lightning, which made Spinelli involuntarily flinch as she forced herself to concentrate on her instrumentation. Spinelli's mouth felt as though she had attempted to eat an entire box of cotton just before takeoff; now, her mouth was dry.

"I'm getting a positive signal, Teej," Spinelli called out, "bearing one four five mark seven at sixty seven miles, nautical. Copy?"

T.J. Detweiler checked his own battle computer and nodded briefly; his oxygen mask shaking.

"Copy, Spin," T.J.'s voice came back over the intercom, "It looks like that's our target."

"Able One to Able Team," Spinelli called out, "form up on my wing; Able Two on my six. Able Four, you're flying high guard. Able Five, take Able Three and get set up for your attack run."

"Able Three, copy," Johnny V. answered.

"Able Two, copying, dahlin'," Billy Barton replied.

"Able Four, copy," Kurt Russo responded.

"Able Five, roger," Winger said.

"Listen, Spin," T.J. chimed in from the navigator's seat, "if we change our heading to...one two four mark nine and increase our airspeed to six hundred, we can get to the edge of this storm."

"Won't that heading take us out of our way?"

"Just a bit, yes," T.J. replied, "but we can get a better visual on the target as well. Besides, we would still be well within our boundries for the exercise."

Spinelli considered the situation for a half-second, then agreed.

"Sounds good," Spinelli said with conviction, "Attention Able Flight; prepare to change course to one two four mark nine; increase speed to six hundred and stay close."

"What's up, Boss?" Johnny V. asked.

"We're going to try and get a jump on this storm," Spinelli replied, "and, just maybe, a better ground visual, too."

Spinelli took her F-15-A-D Super Hornet into a controlled roll to the right as she increased speed to six hundred miles per hour; her tiny plane shook violently from the buffeting winds from the gigantic storm for several moments, but when she began to see sunlight breaking through the uppermost clouds, the buffeting winds began to die down. Spinelli grinned as she called back over her right shoulder.

"Good call, baby," Spinelli said with a grin, which was covered by her own oxygen mask, "I just hate flying through all that shit."

"Just stay alert," T.J. cautioned, "according to ur Doppler radar, this storm's preceeded by a warm front from the west. We could have some very wicked downdrafts."

"Acknowledged."

- Able Three

"What a shit storm!" Johnny V. gritted as he continued to wrestle with the controls. Gus Griswold grinned and nodded in agreement.

"According to Doppler," he reported, "we're almost through the worst of it now."

"Good," Johnny replied, "I hate flying in those-"

A sudden bang cut Johnny V. short as he looked, startled, out of the canopy window. Something had hit the canopy windshield. Johnny stared at it in shock, his eyes focusing in on the spiderweb of cracks which appeared. For a half-second, Johnny V. could not locate the source of the apparent collision.

"What the!" Johnny V. began, but again, something crashed into the canopy windshield; this time, sending dangerous cracks throughout its structure.

"Gus!" Johnny demanded, "What the hell is that!"

"I'm not sure-" Gus started, then inhaled sharply.

"DANGER! EVADE! DANGER! EVADE!" the F-14's fligh computer warned.

However, by the time Johnny V. heard those fateful words...it was already too late.

More objects started slamming into the windshield, threatening to shatter it completely. Blood splattered and streaked across it's broken surface, and at the speed with which they travelled, both pilot and navigator would be killed from the flying debris when the canopy finally gave way. Johnny V. needed no further explanation; he brought his F-14 Tomcat's nose up, when the horror sunk in as to what was happening.

"BIRDS!" Gus screamed, "WE'RE HITTING BIRDS!"

At that second, Johnny V.'s F-14 flew through the main body of thousands of flocking birds who were trying to escape the comming thunderstorm. Their hapless bodies slammed into the fighter; shattering the windshield, getting sucked into the engine air intakes. Johnny V. watched in stunned disbelief as both of the Tomcat's engines flamed out and fell silent, clogged with the grissly remains of flocking birds, as his flight computer's instrumentation went dark. Alarms of every kind started going off simultaneously Johnny V.'s instrument panel sparked violently and winked out. The F-14 began to roll over onto its back, for a graceful crash into the desert floor below. At the rate of their uncontrolled decent, Johnny V. knew he had only one option left.

"Gus!" Johnny called back to his navigator, "When I get this pig turned upright, you punch out!"

"What about you!"

"I'll be right behind you, buddy," he said simply.

"Able Three to Able Leader!" Gus called into his mike, as he pulled on the g-locks even tighter.

"Go, Three!"

"We've flown into a flock of birds! Engines out! Have sustained major damage! Unable to maintain flight! We're going down! We are declaring a mayday! Copy!"

"Roger, Three!" Spinelli's voice came back clear and crisp, "Punch out immediately!"

"Roger!"

Lt. Gus Griswold kept his cool as he swiftly recalled the punchout proceedure; disconnect the life support, lock the transponder and grab the rings just behind his head-

The whole world exploded around Gus as the explosive charges which were set just beneath his navigator's seat caused Gus to be propelled upwards at bone-crushing speeds; a micro-second later, his frail body, strapped firmly within the navigator's chair, was nearly flattened by the excessive g-forces as he was blown clear of the doomed Tomcat. Rain stung his lower jaw as Gus Griswold fought vainly to see what had happened to his pilot and the doomed F-14, but the chair went spinning out of control as Gus felt the drag chute opened. He was slammed forward in his chair as the drag chute did exactly what it had been designed to do; get him slowed down and more or less upright. One second later, Gus felt the main chute deploy as he briefly caught a glimpse of the smoking F-14 Tomcat now far ahead of his position and going down fast. Brilliant flashes of lightning illuminated the surface of the F-14, where Gus could plainly see the huge trailing plumes of black smoke belching from the destroyed engines.

-Able Three

Johnny V. continued to struggle with the controls, but to no avail; his bird was going down whether he liked it or not. Johnny then shifted his attention to his last duties before he himself could safely escape. With an ice cold calmness, Johnny V. opened a small panel just to the left of his flight stick; just behind that panel was a small control. Johnny flipped the lever up as he strained to see his entire weapons ordinance drop safely from his damaged F-14 and fall harmlessly into the desert floor below.

Step one...done. Now, for step two...

Johnny manually opened the fuel cocks and watched as his highly volitile jet fuel sprayed out from the rear of his damaged aircraft. Johnny knew this was the most dangerous point in the pre-ejection process; if the rear of the craft were on fire or even super heated, it could easily catch the spraying fuel on fire, which would then blow him and his plane to smitherines. With a gulp, Johnny V. watched nervously as the fuel poured in a fine mist from the rear of his plane.

"Well, we all gotta die sometime," he muttered to himself.

But to Johnny V.'s great relief, nothing happened...nothing other than his plane was now spinning hoplessly out of control. It was time to get out...

"Get out, Johnny!" Gus begged as he watched helplessly. Gus saw a sudden flash of light from the cockpit flared as Johnny V. safely punched out. The F-14 Tomcat continued its graceful flight, spiralling into the desert floor.

- Able Leader

"Repeat! Able Leader to Fox One! Able Three is going down!" T.J. Detweiler called out over the comm. The deep, baritone voice of Mitch Deacon came back, strong and steady.

"Easy, Able Leader," Ghost Rider said evenly, "have two birds follow our boys down and try to keep a visual on them. Send Able Four to follow the disabled bird and prepare to destroy it if it threatens any civilian ground targets, over."

"Roger, Ghost Rider, will do," Spinelli said, the looked past her left wing towards Billy Barton.

"Able Two, follow that bird to the ground and ensure it doesn't endanger any ground targets," Spinelli ordered quickly, "lock on AIM120 missle and give me a buzz when you get a firing solution, over."

"Roger that, Able Leader," Billy called back, as he pushed his own aircraft to its limits. Spinelli watched helplessly as Billy followed the F-14 down, his own plane going in a slow and graceful arc, just as he had been taught to do when an aircraft had to be abandoned. Billy swooped past the doomed F-14 several times in an arc which kept him within several hundred yards of the abandoned plane.

"Able Four, get a transponder lock on Babytooth and follow him down," Spinelli ordered, "I'll follow New Kid. Dont lose sight of your target!"

"Roger, Boss," Kurt Russo said back, "I won't lose him!"

"Able Five, you fly high guard and watch our collective asses," Spinelli ordered Winger, "If either of us run into trouble or lose sight of our targets, it will be up to you to find them again. Copy?"

"Roger, Able Leader," Winger said, "On my way!"

Lt. Commander Ashley Spinelli brought her F-15-A-D Super Hornet around and slowed her decent as T.J. Detweiler locked onto Gus Griswold's transponder signal.

"I've got Gus on screen, Boss," he reported.

"Don't lose him, Teej," Spinelli pleaded, "I can't get a visual in all this mess!"

Gus Griswold was buffeted by the high winds and shearing rains as his navigator's chair fell towards the earth at a controlled speed. His main worry right now was if his main chute folded; if it collapsed in on itself, his only other option was the emergency chute. But the emergency chute was not designed for high altitude freefall; if it too failed, Gus would slam into the desert floor at terminal velocity. Gus kept a death-grip on his g-lock harness as he vainly searched the skies for any signs of his flight; but his ears were still ringing from the punch-out, even with the state of the art flight helmet he wore. To Gus, the whole world was silent, save for the constant ringing deep within his ears. He was not particularly worried, though; although loud, the permanent damage to his hearing should be minimal...should be.

A sudden flare from a passing dark shadow let Gus know that Lt. Commander Ashley Spinelli had found him and was following him down; she had apparently ordered T.J. to fire off a flare to put Gus's mind at ease. With everything that had just happened, most people's nerves would have been frayed; but not Gus Griswold's. That would come soon enough...once he was safely on Terra Firma. But right now, Gus was cool, calm and collected. His months of training at Pennsicola, Florida, had paid off in spades.

He was still alive.

Gus managed to sneek a look at his landing zone; a dark patch of sand near a small river. His insides quivered; he knew he had to stay clear of that river, should he lose conciousness when he landed. It would definately be insulting to drown in the middle of a small river in the desert after safely escaping the F-14. With baited breath, Lt. Gus Griswold, USMC, counted off the crutial seconds just as he had been taught to do at Pennsicola...

"...three...two...one!"

Gus pulled on a small release lever, just to his right, as he felt his chair fall away from him and tumble into the darkness below; it had served its purpose. Gus could not make landfall still strapped to the chair; to do so would have probably crushed him instantly.

Gus fell the last several hundred feet with his feet dangling over nothingness; his only lifeline was that of thin strands of steel-reinforced nylon cord which kept the young Lt. Griswold safe. Gus drifted soundless downward towards the enveloping darkness just before his silent and peaceful trip was cut violently short...

II.

NAS Fullon Base Hospital

Lt. Commander Ashley Funicello Spinelli leaned against the white walls of the small corridor, her arms wrapped tightly around her as she stared silently at the lynoleum floor. Her dark, intense eyes drifted upwards from time to time, watching silently as both doctors and nurses sucurried past both her and the rest of Able Flight. Just off to her right, Johnny V. sat in a padded chair, his face a mask of unreadable emotions; but Spinelli could tell that Johnny was in turmoil right now. Spinelli pulled herself out of her own depression as she went over and sat down next to Johnny V..

"Are you sure you're okay, Johnny?" Spinelli asked him, for perhaps the one hundredth time. Johnny V. glanced over at his ravishingly beautiful flight leader and nodded briefly.

"I've had better days, Ash," he said softly.

"Gus is alive because of you, Johnny," Spinelli pointed out quietly, "both of you got out in time. That's what's important here."

"I should've remembered my flight training better," Johnny V. bit back, "I should have remembered that flocks of birds often stay ahead of storms; I should've-"

"No one saw the birds on their screens, Johnny," Peaches reminded him, standing off just to Johnny's right, "With all of that storm activity, you would have been lucky to see them at all. I know I didn't see them."

"Besides," Billy Barton chimed in, "the Navy can replace a plane; it's not that easy for good pilots or their navigators."

"I've already talked with Ghost Rider," Spinelli added gently, "he confirms that what you did was right; there won't be anything more of an inquiry than just to establish the facts."

"It all happened so...fast," Johnny stumbled around for the right word, "One second, we were just fine...then, boom. We were in the middle of them before we knew it."

"So, what's eating at you?" Spinelli asked.

"It's not Top Gun, if that's what you're fishing around for, Ash," Johnny said, "it's the fact that I almost got Gus killed. He's got a child on the way...and I almost made his kid an orphan."

Spinelli reached over and placed her hand firmly on Johnny V.'s muscular shoulder.

"But Gus did make it...and so did you, Johnny," she reminded him with a solid stare. Johnny looked over at her and managed a soft grin.

"Yeah," he admitted, "yeah; I guess you're right."

"Hey, I'm the commander," Spinelli ribbed him gently, "I'm always right."

T.J. Detweiler appeared from around a corner and looked about for the rest of his flight, before he spotted them near a nurse's station. With a lop-sided grin, T.J. came over and plopped down next to Spinelli.

"Good news, you guys!" T.J. Detweiler's cheerful voice broke in, "Gus only has a mild concussion and a broken arm."

"Thank goodness," Spinelli breathed.

"When can we see him?" Peaches asked anxiously.

"We can see him briefly now," T.J. said, "but the doctors said Gus needs to get some sack time, so we'll have to be brief."

Ashley Spinelli was the first to enter to dimly lit room as she cast about for their commrade and her nearly life-long friend. She spotted Gus, tucked neatly into the sterile white sheets on the hospital bed, unmoving. Spinelli motioned silently for the others to follow as she made her way over to Gus Griswold's bedside.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Spinelli said to Gus as she reached out and gently stroked his face with the back of her hand, "Gretchen might get jealous."

"How is she?" Gus asked, worried.

"I spoke with her over the phone," Spinelli said, "she was really worried about you, but after I told her that you landed on your head, she's not worried one bit."

Spinelli's comment produced nervous laughter from Able Flight as Gus, too, softly chuckled.

"I thought they taught jarheads how to land on their feet," Johnny V. smiled softly at the young leiutenant. Gus Griswold's bright blue eyes looked back up at him, relief washing over his face as he held his friends in his gaze.

"I must have missed that class," Gus joked, his voice cracked and dry.

"Can I get you anything?" Spinelli asked.

"No, I'm fine," Gus said, tired, "I'm just laying here trying to figure out how I'm going to tell Gretchen I got washed out of Top Gun."

Gus's voice sounded a bit more distant; more reclusive. Despite the fact that Gus was grateful for being alive, he was now out of Top Gun. The disappointment felt like a thousand tiny daggers in Johnny V.'s heart.

"It was all my fault, Gus," he said, in front of everyone, "I should have kept a closer eye on-"

"I'm the navigator, Johnny," Gus spoke up, "its my job to make sure that we don't-"

"Alright, you two, knock it off!" Spinelli spat, "Let's just be grateful that both of you are more or less safe and sound; it could have been a lot worse."

Both Johnny V. and Gus Griswold looked at each other, then back at their commander.

"That's right, boys," a big, booming voice sounded from behind them, near the door. Everyone turned to see Ghost Rider enter the room and cross the room to Griswold's bedside in several giant steps. Gus Griswold started to sit up in bed, but Captain Deacon held up his hand.

"At ease, Leiutenant," he ordered, "I just came by to see how you're doing. How's the wing?"

Ghost Rider pointed at Gus Griswold's broken arm. Gus shrugged as best he could.

"I won't be flying south for the winter, sir," Gus joked.

"Considering how you land, that's probably a good thing," Captain Deacon shot back easily.

"So...I guess this means I'm out of Top Gun, sir?" Gus asked quietly.

"This time around, I'm afraid so," Ghost Rider said, "but I think I can convince the powers that be to let you give it another try when you're all healed."

"What about Johnny, here, sir?" T.J. spoke up. The question stunned Johnny V.; but Spinelli was completely speechless.

"I don't think the Inquiry will be finished in time for Johnny V. to make the rest of this course," Captain Deacon said lightly, "maybe he'll be given another opprotunity to go to Top Gun in the future."

"With all due respect, sir," T.J. said firmly, "that's a bunch of crap! Johnny did what he had to do; what any of us would have done in his place. It's not fair to make him suffer for doing the right thing."

Spinelli started to interviene, but it was Ghost Rider who spoke up first.

"I'm not here to butt heads with you, Detweiler," he growled softly, "I follow the rules; if the Board of Inquiry says Johnny V. can return to the class, then so be it. But don't preach to me about right and wrong."

Captain Mitchell Lewis Deacon stood his full height and nodded briefly to Gus Griswold.

"Get well soon," he said, then he looked at Spinelli, "Spinelli, I want to speak with you...alone."

Ashley Spinelli glanced back at T.J., who stood stoically in front of her as she followed Ghost Rider to the door. Although T.J. was not sure, it did not look to him that Spinelli was too happy about the verbal exchange.

"Sir," Spinelli began, as the two of them exited the hospital and went out into the coolness of the desert evening, "I know that Lt. Detweiler was out of line; but he was just defending a fine pilot...sir."

"I didn't ask you out here to talk about your junior officer's bad habits, Spinelli," Ghost Rider said evenly, "I came here looking for you."

"For me?"

"To give you this," Mitch Deacon handed Spinelli a folder marked TOP SECRET. Spinelli's eyes bugged as she slowly took the folder from Ghost Rider's hand.

"There's no doubt that Detweiler is a loose cannon, and one day, he'll land in the shit. Not even his hot-shot navigation skills will be able to save him. But I have to admire the kid's spirit; he's got bigger kuhunnas than most admirals I know."

Ghost Rider fell silent as Ashley Spinelli began to leaf through the contents of the folder which Deacon had handed to her. At first, Spinelli couldn't make any sense of it; a blurred picture of a young man...a picture of an SU-37 SUPERFLANKER...

As if a ton of bicks fell on Ashley Spinelli, she suddenly realised what she was looking at. The dossier of the man who had shot her down over the Sea of Japan...and the bastard who killed Sara Nichols.

"Is this?" Spinelli started to ask, but Ghost Rider beat her to the question by nodding briefly.

"Where Detweiler got this folder, I don't want to know," Ghost Rider grinned, "but he turned it over to me; he felt you should see it from someone else."

"But, why, sir?"

"Detweiler told me that you need a face to put with your fear," Mitch Deacon said flatly, "and this was the only way he could see of helping you to overcome your fear. I just happen to agree with him on this, that's all."

Spinelli returned to the papers stuffed inside the folder. She stared briefly at the blurred picture of a middle aged man.

"He's a Colonel in the North Korean Air Force?" she asked.

"Yes," Ghost Rider confirmed, "and one hell of a good pilot; it's not surprising that he was able to take you down out there. His name's Yon Kip, and he's pulled that little maneuver before on others. You might say its his trademark."

"If I remember my intelligence briefings," Spinelli recalled, "the north Koreans use a different transponder signal for their high ranking officers than for the rank and file...correct?"

"Correct," Ghost Rider said, "that way, if one of their higher ranking pilots gets shot down, they can locate him much quicker. They usually tranmit at one freq lower than their subordinates."

"That means," Spinelli deduced, "if we knew their transponder signal frequency, we could locate their commanders, because they would be one setting lower."

"In principle, yes," Ghost Rider said, as he turned to leave, "but it would take one hell of a navigator to detect that particular signal in a dog fight. Do you know any good navigators, Spinelli?"

III.

Gretchen Griswold leaned back in her chair as she pinched the bridge of her nose in part to ward off the overwhelming fatigue that hung over her ever since she had stepped off the private jet. A quick, twenty minute ride to a hidden, non-descript building in Virginia and a whirlwind briefing had long since past. Gretchen had begun to wonder why she had been called away from her husband at NAS Fullon; especially since Gus's accident. Even though Gus was no worse for wear, Gretchen's insides spun tightly when ever she thought about her husband having to bail out of the F-14. Fortunately, Gus had Johnny V. watching over him at the time. With a loud sigh, Gretchen pushed away all of the unpleasant thoughts about what could have gone horribly wrong, and simply be thankful for Gus's safety, as her tired eyes drifted back to the piles of papers and photos which she had spent the last several hours pouring over.

Several reems of intelligence reports on suspicious activity deep within North Korea had apparently aroused someone's intrest; but Gretchen's speciality was in identifying threats, not digesting raw intelligence data. With a somewhat disgusted look at the piles of reports and highly classified photos on her temporary desk, Gretchen pressed a button on her phone.

"Wilson?" Lt. Griswold called into the mike, "Any word yet from photography?"

"No, ma'am," came the young male's reply, "I just checked with them twenty minutes ago; their U-2 spyplane had just transmitted the data, via satilite, to Washington."

"Tell them to expedite the photographs as soon as they become avialable," Gretchen ordered softly, as she gazed at one set of particularly disturbing pictures, "and call me the moment they clear Fleet."

"That might be very early in the morning, ma'am," Wilson pointed out, "are you sure?"

"Yes, quite sure," Gretchen replied, "I don't think I'll be able to sleep much anyway. And see if you can get me a glass of milk, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am," the voice responded. A second later, the small red light went dark as Gretchen turned off the speaker phone.

Gretchen leaned forward and picked up several reports, laying them side by side while her eyes darted quickly from one to the other. If the reports held true, and the much older photos she possessed from an earlier U-2 fly over confirmed what Gretchen feared, the whole world could very well be on the brink of nuclear annilation...

-Able Leader NAS Fullon Day 23 09:37

"Distance, ten miles and closing," T.J. Detweiler reported as Ashley Spinelli skillfully manuevered her F-15-A-D Super Hornet past the simulated SAM sites and lined up her plane with the ground target. Spinelli called back over her shoulder.

"Okay, Teej!" she said, "We're right on their front doorstep; give them everything we've got!"

"Everything in just one pass?" T.J. asked, baffled.

"What's the matter, Prankster Prince?" Spinelli teased, "Too much pressure for you?"

"Bite your tongue!" he said back as he individually targeted over a dozen ground targets. Spinelli watched in stunned silence as T.J. Detweiler fired an entire salvo of air to surface missles with a single touch of the trigger. Subconsciously, Spinelli held her breath as the battle computer aboard her F-15-A-D Super Hornet registered a one hundred percent kill ratio.

"That was tender, Teej!" Spinelli said breathlessly.

"That should put us back in first place, ma'am!" T.J. responded, a hint of pride in his youthful voice.

"But...where's Ghost Rider?" Spinelli chewed, "Do you see him, Teej?"

T.J. Detweiler glanced about then adjusted the radar sensors. He was about to answer his commander when a blur of multicolored lights suddenly appeared almost directly below their own aircraft.

"Holy!" Prankster Prince cried out in shock, "Spin, he's right below us and comming up fast!"

Spinelli instinctively rolled her F-15-A-D Super Hornet into a tight, inside barrel roll as she traded altitude for speed; both pilot and copilot were thrust back into their acceleration couches with multiple g-forces as Spinelli banked hard to her right and flipped up the toggle control to activate her 20mm guns.

"Come and get some, Ghost Rider!" Spinelli gritted, "If it's an old fashioned dog fight you want, that's what you'll get!"

"Here he comes!" T.J. called out, just as an ominous shape shattered the airspace around the F-15-A-D Super Hornet and vanishing from sight less than a second later. The SU-37 Superflanker cut left and leveled off just behind Spinelli's plane.

"He's behind us, Spin!" T.J. yelled.

"I've got him, baby boy!" Spinelli answered, as she kicked in the F-15-A-D Super Hornet's afterburners and banked sharply left. Although Ghost Rider's SU-37 Super Flanker had more manueverability than that of the F-15-A-D Super Hornet, Spinelli still had an edge on raw speed. Spinelli ignored the warning klaxons that blared all about the cockpit as she watched the world below turn, shift and then drop away altogether. A half second later, the sleek shape of the SU-37 Super Flanker appeared in front of them as Ghost Rider broke engagement and banked hard to his left.

"Oh, no you don't!" Spinelli growled defiantly, banking her own plane in the same direction, "You're not getting away from me this time!"

"Go get him, Spin!" T.J. cheered as Spinelli poured on the speed. Within another second, Spinelli's heads up display indicated that she was within firing range.

"Watch our tail, Teej!" Spinelli ordered, "I don't want Ghost Rider's croonies to take us out!"

"They're ten miles out and closing fast," T.J. reported back, "they're within missle range, but they're not firing at us!"

"They don't want to accidently lock onto their boss and take him down!" Spinelli pointed out happily, "As long as I can stay on Ghost Rider's tail, we're safe."

"So, why don't you fire?" T.J. asked, "We're locked onto him!"

Ashley Spinelli did not immediately reply, but continued to hound Ghost Rider; through twists and turns, dives and climbs, Spinelli kept her F-15-A-D Super Hornet glued to the Russian SU-37 Super Flanker. Ghost Rider's plane suddenly swooped upward and nearly stalled as Spinelli blasted by him at near mach speed. Spinelli instantly banked right and switched from guns to missles. Spinelli arched her F-15-A-D Super Hornet around as a tiny, green circle appeared, floating in mid air within Spinelli's line of sight as she bore down on Ghost Rider once more.

"Fire Fox-One!" Spinelli called into her mike, "Missle away!"

Without warning, the SU-37 Super Flanker slammed on its airbrakes as Ghost Rider brought the nose of the Russian built craft nearly vertical. Spinelli watched in wide eyed horror as Ghost Rider's plane turned back towards his pursuer.

"So you want to play dirty, do you?" Spinelli snapped as she pushed the throttle as far forward as she could. The F-15-A-D Super Hornet's engines whined in protest as Ashley Spinelli pulled away from Ghost Rider and headed due north.

"Where the heck are you going, Spin?" T.J. called out, as he watched the SU-37 quickly vanish behind them.

"Ghost Rider isn't the only one who has a few tricks up their sleeves!" Spinelli said.

T.J. Detweiler kept one eye on the radar scope and the other on his pilot as Spinelli pushed her plane to its absolute limits; within several tense seconds, T.J.'s chest shook with the boom as their F-15-A-D Super Hornet shattered the sound barrier. Spinelli then started to gently bring the nose of her aircraft up as she continued to pour on the speed. Spinelli's eyes darted over to her own scope as she broke out into a huge grin.

"What have you got in mind, Spin?" T.J. asked nervously, as he watched the entire world below them turning upside down, "You know we can't outrun Ghost Rider; those Russian built planes have too much speed on us!"

"Trust me, Teej!" Spinelli said as she fought to breathe, "I'm rolling this baby all the way over! We'll built up enough speed to overtake him."

T.J.'s mouth dropped open despite the acceleration.

"You're going to loop the plane at mach speeds!"

"Faith, Prankster Prince," Spinelli said, "nothing on earth can out run a mach-loop; not even Ghost Rider!"

"Just don't slam us into the desert, okay?" T.J. said dryly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Spinelli replied.

Assassin, Fox Two

"What the hell is she doing!" Assassin called out from his MIG 29 to Ghost Rider, "She's broken the barrier and-"

"She's improvising," Ghost Rider called back, "It would seem Spinelli is getting tired of me hounding her."

"Mitch," Assassin reasoned, "That little stunt is way too dangerous for-"

"Nonsense," Captain Deacon replied easily, "this is advanced fighter weapons training school, remember? Not a first year flight course."

"What's to prevent her from slamming that aircraft into the ground at such speeds?" Assassin argued, "A mach-loop is something that has to be taught very carfefully, you know."

"Spinelli used the same maneuver two years ago in the Medeteranean," Ghost Rider said, "And slipped away from two Saudi MIGs. She downed both aircraft and returned home unscathed."

"So, you knew she would resort to that tactic?"

"If I were her," Ghost Rider said, "I certainly would. Besides, it's all instinctive; she's getting her confidence back, albeit slowly, and I'm not about to come down on her for performing a maneuver that she's done in a real world senario."

-Able Leader

T.J. Detweiler felt the crushing force of the high speed mach-loop as the F-15-A-D Super Hornet blasted by the SU-37 SUPERFLANKER at several times the speed of sound. Ashley Spinelli' hand stayed steady on the controls, barely able to maintain their grip, as she skillfully manuevered the F-15-A-D Super Hornet out of the loop and fired the simulated missle at Ghost Rider.

beep-

"You got him!" T.J. whooped, "I can't believe it, Spin! YOU GOT HIM!"

"Score one for the good guys," Ashley Spinelli grinned, as she heard Ghost Rider's voice come over the comm.

"Not bad, Able Leader," he commented, "that little stunt should give you the two extra points you need to pull ahead in this competition. Let's roll in the carpet for today; all wings form up and return to base."

-Somewhere in Virginia

16:07

Admiral Mike Henesy held the reports in his hands, examining each detail carefully. His gray eyes shifted from one document to the next and back again, as though he were searching for some indication, some clue, as to what exactly the North Koreans were planning next. Hensey picked up an old fashioned magnifying glass and examined in great detail the photographs which were so highly top secret, they had to be destroyed as soon as the data was confirmed. After nearly an hour of agonizing silence, broken only by Henesy's rustling of papers, did he look up at Lt. Com. Gretchen Grundler-Griswold. From where Gretchen sat, it was perhaps the very first time that Gretchen had ever seen Hensey's face as gray as his neatly trimmed hair.

"Are you absolutely sure about these reports, Gretchen?" he asked, worried.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Gretchen confirmed, "three seperate fly-overs, one by us, one by the Chinese and another by the Russians, all confirm that the North Koreans have begun to outfit SS-23 missles with high grade nuclear weapons. Independent intelligence reports from the British also confirm that these weapons, when outfitted, could be sold off to third world nations-but as to the exact number that we're looking at, sir, I really can't be certain."

"Then guess," Henesy ordered flatly. Gretchen fidgited uncomfortably, then continued.

"I would say at least twenty, sir," she finally said, "enough to make nearly half of the planet uninhabitable for centuries, if these weapons were ever used."

"Where the hell did these SS-23 vehicles and launch systems come from?" he demanded, "And why didn't we catch them at this nonsense sooner?"

"Intelligence reports seem to indicate that the launch and vehicle systems were sold to both India and Pakistan, prior to the Indian-Pakistani Conflict of 2009 over the region known as Kashmir," Gretchen reported, "After the U.N. intervention, these systems were ordered broken down and disposed of; although the U.N. did not specify as to exactly what to do with them. It appears, sir, that Pakistan, and mostly likely India as well, sold these systems to unspecified third parties, then destroyed the documentation. They were then broken down into two seperate systems; one, the vehicle, and two, the launch systems, and were illegally shipped through the Chinese borders to North Korea."

"Why didn't the Chinese detect these illegal shipments?"

"They did, sir," Gretchen pointed to a specific document, "but those in the Chinese government who were responsible for doctoring those papers were summarily executed. The Chinese felt that it would be an embaressment to reveal that these systems had almost slipped through their borders without detection, or have it known by the rest of the world that there were those within the Chinese government who could be bribed."

"So much for world cooperation," Hensey grinded his teeth, "What does WAIN say?"

WAIN was the highly top secret organization created by the higher nuclear powers- the US, Russia, China, Great Britian and so forth, to monitor nuclear proliferation throughout the world. All nuclear related intelligence went through WAIN first. If WAIN said someone was a nuclear threat, everyone listened.

"I spoke with Admiral Jenkins earlier this afternoon, sir," Gretchen explained,"and we both seem to be in agreement. The North Koreans are preparing to either use or sell these weapons soon. The launch vehicles have been moved from their assembly building...here, to the Ybong nuclear power facility...here.This is a clear indication that the North Koreans have completed their secret uranium-enrichment program, and now are outfitting nuclear weapons capable of reaching U.S. shores."

Gretchen indicated each of the buildings marked on the photographs. Hensey shifted his gaze back to the top secret map to which Gretchen had refered. Although Hensey had intensely grilled Gretchen Grundler-Griswold for the past half-hour, he was already convinced that the nuclear threat was real and clear. He finally set the documents down before him and closed the folder.

"What would you suggest we do about this situation, Gretchen?" he asked point blank. Gretchen did not hesitate.

"We should strike the Ybong Nuclear Power Facility immediately, sir, in a full-scale air strike," she stated.

"You realise that we could be talking about starting World War III?"

"I'm only convinced that if we don't strike, sir, that the North Koreans will attempt to either use these weapons to bolster their already waining position at home and abroad, while at the same time, providing these weapons to both countries and organizations which are intent on destablizing world peace. After examining the situation with the North Koreans over the past six months, I feel they are ready to strike, if needs be, in order to ensure their own survival."

"Agreed," Hensey nodded, "but we'll have to get the Old Man's approval for such a premeptive first strike. Can you have all the available material broken down for him by oh-seven-hundred tommorrow morning?"

"Yes, sir," Gretchen said firmly. Although she wasn't sure just how she would organize the enormous amount of data in time, she would do it...somehow.

"Gretchen," Hensey said, as he leaned forward, "this presentation tommorrow morning could have dire and far reaching consequences for years to come-you must be able to answer all of the Old Man's questions as directly and simply as possible. Remember, he's the President of the United States; not some military intelligence desk jockey. Keep it simple and to the point. Understood?"

So, she had to brief the president...it wasn't the first time...or the first president, for that matter.

"Yes, sir," Gretchen answered.

IV.

T.J. Detweiler stooped down and picked up Gus Griswold's duffle bag, while Ashley Spinelli finished her hug with Gus. T.J. walked over slowly, trying in vain to hide his disappointment, while Gus and Spinelli disengaged their hug and turned to face him.

"This is really a raw deal, Gus," T.J. fumed.

"Don't you mean this whomps?" Gus asked with a sideways smirk.

"Yeah, Gus," T.J. shrugged, "Something like that."

"Well, at least I'll get another chance in the future," Gus shrugged, "besides, it'll be nice to spend some extra time with the wife."

"Give Gretchen and that baby of yours our love, okay?" Spinelli asked.

"Absolutely," Gus replied as he turned to face T.J..

"You guys stay safe, okay?" Gus said quietly, not quite looking at them. Spinelli and Detweiler both exchanged quick, sad glances before Spinelli spoke up.

"You, too, jarhead," Spinelli ribbed, "and take care of that baby; it will need both of you."

"I will," Gus nodded slightly, then glanced back over his shoulder towards the terminal, "Well, I'd better get on board. I'll give you guys a call in a day or two to let you know how things are going."

Gus started off for the terminal, paused, then turned back to his two best friends.

"One more thing," he added, "Gretchen and I talked it over and...well, we'd love if you and T.J. would consider being our baby's god-parents."

Spinelli and T.J. looked knowingly at each other, then turned to Gus.

"We'd be honored, Gus," T.J. replied for the two of them. Spinelli, now too choked up for words, simply nodded, as she attempted to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes while T.J. put one strong arm around his commander's shoulders and hugged her tightly. Spinelli instictively reached up and pulled T.J.'s arm closer about her, as she silently watched Gus make his way towards the terminal and vanish a moment later around the corner. Spinelli let out a nervous sigh, then looked sideways at her navigator.

"There goes one of the best, Spin," T.J. mumbled a moment later. Spinelli looked into T.J.'s baby-blue eyes but was not completely surprised to find that he, too, was crying.

"I'm just glad that another one of the best is right here with me," Spinelli smiled softly. T.J. perked up an eyebrow at her, then kissed her gingerly on her flushed cheek.

"I'm glad to hear that Johnny V. was cleared of the accident," T.J. added a moment later. Spinelli smiled.

"Ghost Rider really did most of the talking to the Board of Inquiry," she said, "so it really wasn't as bad as I thought it might have been. The Colonel stood his ground against the Board."

"But it's a shame about Gus losing out on his position," he added.

"I think it's for the best," Spinelli said as she looked back over her shoulder at the terminal where Gus had been a moment before, "I know how Gretchen feels; a girl needs her man by her side. Especially when she's going to have his baby. He can always come back in the future; but there are certain things that have to take priority in life."

"About that," T.J. chimed in carefully, "I wanted to say-"

"Don't," Spinelli put a finger up to silence the apology that was poised on his lips, "there's no need for any apologies, baby. We're together right now; that's what matters to me."

NAS Fullon 19:00 hrs

"Just relax, sweetheart," Ashley Spinelli said to T.J. from the edge of the kitchen door, "We'll be ready to eat in about twenty minutes."

"Can't I help, Spin?" he asked.

"Just stay out of my kitchen," Spinelli grinned. T.J. said nothing in return, but nodded with an embarrassed grin of his own as he continued to flip through a magazine.

"Momma?" Angelina asked dimunitively, "Can I help?"

Ashley Spinelli looked down at her side to see her daughter peering back up at her with large, dark eyes that seemed all too familiar to her; something so long ago. Perhaps it reminded her of her days long ago on the playground of Third Street Elementary, or perhaps it was her inocent look that reminded her of a younger T.J. Detweiler. Funny thing was...Angelina was both.

Ashley continued to stir the spaggetti sauce as she smiled.

"Sure, sweetheart," Angelina's mother replied easily, "Could you set the table for me? T.J. will be here soon."

"Okay!" Angelina sang out as she quickly rifled through several drawers before she found the silverware. She mentally recalled how her grandmother set the table many times before, then began to scoop up the forks, knives and spoons, along with the dishes. Angelina stacked them efficiently and carried them over to the table in the next room, while Ashley watched her daughter from the kitchen, a warm smile traced on her perfect lips.

"Momma?" Angelina asked quietly after a moment of silence, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Angie," Ashley said.

"Grammy said that you and T.J. knew each other a long time ago, before I was born," she said. Ashley stopped suddenly, a cold fist of fear striking her directly in the gut. Spinelli looked back at the sauce pan, stirring it quickly as Angelina cast a look over at her mother.

"Yeah, that's right...a long time ago," Spinelli replied.

What did mom tell her?

"She said you and T.J. went to school together," Angelina continued slowly. Spinelli sighed quietly to herself and shifted her gaze away from her young daughter.

"Yes, all through school, dear," Spinelli said as indifferently as she could manage. Another long moment past before the silence got Spinelli's attention. She looked back at Angelina, who stood beside the table, silverware still in hand, eyes still looking directly at her mother.

"Grammy showed me a picture of you and T.J. and all your friends when you were in elementary school," Angelina said directly.

Spinelli felt faint. Here it comes, she thought.

"I look just like you did back then," she mused, "but I also kinda looked like T.J., too."

Spinelli looked stunned at her daughter.

"Did daddy look like T.J., momma?"

Ashley Spinelli suddenly realised that her daughter had not quite put things together...at least, not yet.

Maybe now was the time.

"Your father...looked very much like T.J., sweetheart," Spinelli smiled softly to herself.

"Really?" Angelina gasped in astonishment.

"Yes, really," Spinelli replied, "but let me ask you something."

Spinelli removed the pan from the stove and shut off the heat, then grabbed the towel and wiped her hands nervously clean as she came into the dinning room and pulled out a chair to sit down. Spinelli then patted her leg, to which Angelina eagerly climbed into her mother's lap.

"What is it, momma?" Angelina asked.

"What do you think about T.J., dear?" Spinelli asked.

"He's real nice, momma," Angelina admitted, "He's a lot of fun, especially when we went to the fair!"

"Yes, I suppose so," Spinelli grinned,"But, what I meant was...what do you think of him? Do you think he'd make a good...daddy?"

"Are you gonna get married, momma!" Angelina gushed.

The memory of T.J. asking her to marry him came flooding back to Spinelli like a song which played over and over again. She blushed as Angelina searched her mother's beautiful face for some sign, some hope, that her own dreams were about to come true.

"What if we...we did get married, Angie? What would you think about that?"

Angelina chewed on her lower lip for a second before she replied.

"Does that mean that T.J. would be my daddy?" she asked.

"I am your daddy, Angelina," a deep voice said in response. Both Ashley and her daughter gasped as they both looked towards T.J. Detweiler gazed back at the two most important women in his life. Spinelli started to object, but T.J. held up his hand to silence her.

"Angelina, there's something your mother and I have to tell you," T.J. said slowly as he over to the little girl and knelt down beside her, taking his daughter's hand in his own.

"Your mother and I knew each other a long time ago...before you were born," he said quietly, "and we loved each other very much."

"You're my daddy?" Angelina asked, confused, "But that's not true; if you were my daddy, you and momma would be married...right?"

T.J. looked over at Ashley, who looked shyly back at him.

"When two people, a boy and a girl, love each other, they don't have to be married to have a baby, sweetheart," T.J. explained, "We should have been married, but we never got married. But we still had the most beautiful baby girl in the world...you."

T.J. reached up and stroked the side of Angelina's face as his own heart beat fiercely deep within his chest.

"Why didn't you get married to momma?"

A loud ring broke the tender moment, causing both Spinelli and T.J. to jump involuntarily. Spinelli sighed as she went to the phone in the kitchen. Angelina, however, seemed to take no notice of the surprise phone call; her dark, smoldering eyes continued to watch her father, taking in every contour of his handsome face. T.J. looked back at her awkwardly for a moment, then pulled her close and hugged her deeply. Angelina wrapped her tiny arms around her father's powerful frame and she returned his hug with as much love and strength as she could manage. After a moment, T.J. glanced towards the kitchen. Spinelli's shadow fell across the refrigerator, then the floor, before T.J. heard her hang up the phone. Spinelli appeared around the corner, her face ashen.

"Teej," she mumbled, "we've got problems."

To Be Continued...

Copyright 2004 D.W.Gavin 


End file.
